THE     CONVERSION     OF     THE     SENATOR     FROM     STACKPOLE 


IN  THE  ARENA 

Stories  of  Political  Life 


BY 

BOOTH  TARKINGTON 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1920 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  CO 


t,  1904,  by  The  S.  S.  McClure  Co.    Copyright.  190S-1904.  by  The 


Copyright,  1904,  by  The  S.  S.  McClure  Co.    Copyright.  1 
RJdgway.Thayer  Co.    Copyright,  1901,  by  John  W 


To  My  Father 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 
Boss  Gorgett 1 


PAGE 


The  Aliens 47 

The  Need  of  Money 93 

Hector 141 

PART  II 

Mrs.  Protheroe    .     ;     ; 205 

Great  Men's  Sons    .     .    .    ^    .    IA    .     .     .     .  259 


"IN  THE  FIRST  PLACE" 

The  old-timer,  a  lean,  retired  pantaloon,  sitting 
with  loosely  slippered  feet  close  to  the  fire,  thus 
gave  of  his  wisdom  to  the  questioning  student: 

* 'Looking  back  upon  it  all,  what  we  most  need 
4  in  politics9  is  more  good  men.  Thousands  of  good 
men  ARE  in;  and  they  need  the  others  who  are  not 
in.  More  would  come  if  they  knew  how  MUCH  they 
are  needed.  The  dilettantes  of  the  clubs  who  have  so 
easily  abused  me,  for  instance  all  my  life,  for  being 
a  ward-worker,  these  and  those  other  reformers  who 
write  papers  about  national  corruption  when  they 
don't  know  how  their  own  wards  are  swung, 
probably  aren't  so  useful  as  they  might  be.  The  ex- 
quisite who  says  that  politics  is  'too  dirty  a  busi- 
ness  for  a  gentleman  to  meddle  with9  is  like  the 
woman  who  lived  in  the  parlour  and  complained 


"IN  THE  FIRST  PLACE " 

that  the  rest  of  her  family  kept  the  other  rooms  so 
dirty  that  she  never  went  into  them. 

'  There  are  many  thousands  of  young  men 
belonging  to  what  is  for  some  reason  called  the 
'best  class,'  who  would  like  to  be  'in  politics9  if 
they  could  begin  high  enough  up  —  as  ambassa- 
dors, for  instance.  That  is,  they  would  like  the 
country  to  do  something  for  them,  though  they 
wouldn't  put  it  that  way.  A  young  man  of  this 
sort  doesn't  know  how  much  he'd  miss  if  his 
wishes  were  gratified.  For  my  part,  I'd  hate  not 
to  have  begun  at  the  beginning  of  the  game. 

"I  speak  of  it  as  a  game,"  the  old  gentleman 
went  on,  "and  in  some  ways  it  is.  That's  where 
the  fun  of  it  comes  in.  Yet,  there  are  times  when  it 
looks  to  me  more  like  a  series  of  combats,  hand-to- 
hand  fights  for  life,  and  fierce  struggles  between 
men  and  strange  powers.  You  buy  your  news- 
paper and  that's  your  ticket  to  the  amphitheatre. 
But  the  distance  is  hazy  and  far;  there  are  clouds 
of  dust  and  you  can't  see  clearly.  To  make  out 
just  what  is  going  on  you  ought  to  get  down  in 
the  arena  yourself.  Once  you're  in  it,  the  view 


"IN  THE  FIRST  PLACE" 

you'll  have  and  the  fighting  that  will  come  your 
way  will  more  than  repay  you.  Still,  I  don't  think 
we  ought  to  go  in  with  the  idea  of  being  repaid. 

"It  seems  an  odd  thing  to  me  that  so  many 
men  feel  they  haven  t  any  time  for  politics;  can't 
put  in  even  a  little,  trying  to  see  how  their  cities 
(let  alone  their  states  and  the  country)  are  run. 
When  we  have  a  war,  look  at  the  millions  of  volun- 
teers that  lay  down  everything  and  answer  the  call 
of  the  country.  Well,  in  politics,  the  country  needs 
ALL  the  men  who  have  any  patriotism  —  NOT  to 
be  seeking  office,  but  to  watch  and  to  understand 
what  is  going  on.  It  doesn't  take  a  great  deal  of 
time;  you  can  attend  to  your  business  and  do  that 
much,  too.  When  wrong  things  are  going  on  and 
all  the  good  men  understand  them,  that  is  all  that 
is  needed.  The  wrong  things  stop  going  on." 


BOSS  GORGETT 


I 


GUESS  I've  been  what  you  might  call  kind 
of  an  assistant  boss  pretty  much  all  my  life;  at 
least,  ever  since  I  could  vote;  and  I  was  some- 
thing of  a  ward-heeler  even  before  that.  I  don't 
suppose  there's  any  way  a  man  of  my  disposition 
could  have  put  in  his  time  to  less  advantage  and 
greater  cost  to  himself.  I've  never  got  a  thing  by 
it,  all  these  years,  not  a  job,  not  a  penny  —  noth- 
ing but  injury  to  my  business  and  trouble  with 
my  wife.  She  begins  going  for  me,  first  of  every 
campaign. 

Yet  I  just  can't  seem  to  keep  out  of  it.  It  takes 
a  hold  on  a  man  that  I  never  could  get  away 
from ;  and  when  I  reach  my  second  childhood  and 
the  boys  have  turned  me  out,  I  reckon  I'll  potter 
along  trying  to  look  knowing  and  secretive,  like 
the  rest  of  the  has-beens,  letting  on  as  if  I  still  had 
a  place  inside.  Lord,  if  I'd  put  in  the  energy  at 


4  IN  THE  ARENA 

my  business  that  I've  frittered  away  on  small  pol- 
itics! But  what's  the  use  thinking  about  it?" 

Plenty  of  men  go  to  pot  horse-racing  and  stock 
gambling;  and  I  guess  this  has  just  been  my  way 
of  working  off  some  of  my  nature  in  another  fash- 
ion. There's  a  good  many  like  me,  too;  not  out  for 
office  or  contracts,  nor  anything  that  you  can  put 
your  finger  on  in  particular  —  nothing  except  the 
game.  Of  course,  it's  a  pleasure,  knowing  you've 
got  more  influence  than  some,  but  I  believe  the 
most  you  ever  get  oat  of  it  is  in  being  able  to  help 
your  friends,  to  get  a  man  you  like  a  job,  or  a  good 
contract,  something  he  wants,  when  he  needs  it. 

I  tell  you  therfs  when  you  feel  satisfied,  and 
your  time  don't  seem  to  have  been  so  much 
thrown  away.  You  go  and  buy  a  higher-priced 
cigar  than  you  can  afford,  and  sit  and  smoke  it 
with  your  feet  out  in  the  sunshine  on  your  porch 
railing,  and  watch  your  neighbour's  children  play- 
ing in  their  yard ;  and  they  look  mighty  nice  to  you ; 
and  you  feel  kind,  and  as  if  everybody  else  was. 

But  that  wasn't  the  way  I  felt  when  I  helped  to 
hand  over  to  a  reformer  the  nomination  for 


BOSS  GORGETT  5 

mayor;  then  it  was  just  selfish  desperation  and 
nothing  else.  We  had  to  do  it.  You  see,  it  was 
this  way:  the  other  side  haxd  had  the  city  for 
four  terms,  and,  naturally,  they'd  earned  the 
name  of  being  rotten  by  that  time.  Big  Lafe  Gor- 
gett  was  their  best.  "Boss  Gorgett,"  of  course 
our  papers  called  him  when  they  went  for  him, 
which  was  all  the  time;  and  pretty  considerable 
of  a  man  he  was,  too.  Most  people  that  knew  him 
liked  Lafe.  I  did.  But  he  got  a  bad  name,  as  they 
say,  by  the  end  of  his  fourth  term  as  Mayor  — 
and  who  wouldn't  ?  Of  course,  the  cry  went  up  all 
round  that  he  and  his  crowd  were  making  a  fat 
thing  out  of  it,  which  wasn't  so  much  the  case  as 
that  Lafe  had  got  to  depending  on  humouring 
the  gamblers  and  the  brewers  for  campaign  funds 
and  so  forth.  In  fact,  he  had  the  reputation  of 
running  a  disorderly  town,  and  the  truth  is,  it  was 
too  wide  open. 

But  we  hadn't  been  much  better  when  we'd 
had  it,  before  Lafe  beat  us  and  got  in;  and  every- 
body remembered  that.  The  "respectable  ele- 
ment" wouldn't  come  over  to  us  strong  enough 


6  IN  THE  ARENA 

for  anybody  we  could  pick  of  our  own  crowd;  and 
so,  after  trying  it  on  four  times,  we  started  in  to 
play  it  another  way,  and  nominated  Farwell 
Knowles,  who  was  already  running  on  an  inde- 
pendent ticket,  got  out  by  the  reform  and  purity 
people.  That  is :  we  made  him  a  fusion  candidate, 
hoping  to  find  some  way  to  control  him  later. 
We'd  never  have  done  it  if  we  hadn't  thought  it 
was  our  only  hope.  Gorgett  was  too  strong,  and 
he  handled  the  darkeys  better  than  any  man  I 
ever  knew.  He  had  an  organization  for  it  which 
we  couldn't  break;  and  the  coloured  voters  really 
held  the  balance  of  power  with  us,  you  know,  as 
they  do  so  many  other  places  near  the  same  size. 
They  were  getting  pretty  well  on  to  it,  too,  and 
cost  more  every  election.  Our  best  chance  seemed 
to  be  in  so  satisfying  the  "law-and-order"  people 
that  they'd  do  something  to  counterbalance  this 
vote  —  which  they  never  did. 

Well,  sir,  it  was  a  mighty  curious  campaign. 
There  never  really  was  a  day  when  we  could  tell 
where  we  stood,  for  certain.  As  anybody  knows, 
the  "better  element"  can't  be  depended  on. 


BOSS  GORGETT  7 

There's  too  many  of  'em  forget  to  vote,  and  if  the 
weather  isn't  just  right  they  won't  go  to  the  polls. 
Some  of  'em  won't  go  anyway  —  act  as  if  they 
looked  down  on  politics ;  say  it's  only  helping  one 
boodler  against  another.  So  your  true  aristocrat 
won't  vote  for  either.  The  real  truth  is,  he  don't 
care.  Don't  care  as  much  about  the  management 
of  his  city,  State,  and  country  as  about  the  way 
his  club  is  run.  Or  he's  ignorant  about  the  whole 
business,  and  what  between  ignorance  and  indif- 
ference the  worse  and  smarter  of  the  two  rings 
gets  in  again  and  old  Mr.  Aristocrat  gets  soaked 
some  more  on  his  sewer  assessments.  Then  he'll 
holler  like  a  stabbed  hand-organ;  but  he'll  keep 
on  talking  about  politics  being  too  low  a  business 
for  a  gentleman  to  mix  in,  just  the  same! 

Somebody  said  a  pessimist  is  a  man  who  has  a 
choice  of  two  evils,  and  takes  both.  There's  your 
man  that  don't  vote. 

And  the  best-dressed  wards  are  the  ones  that 
fool  us  oftenest.  We're  always  thinking  they'll 
do  something,  and  they  don't.  But  we  thought, 
when  we  took  Farwell  Knowles,  that  we  had  'em 


8  IN  THE  ARENA 

at  last.  Fact  is,  they  did  seem  stirred  up,  too. 
They  called  it  a  "moral  victory"  when  we  were 
forced  to  nominate  Knowles  to  have  any  chance 
of  beating  Gorgett.  That  was  because  it  was  their 
victory. 

Farwell  Knowles  was  a  young  man,  about 
thirty-two,  an  editorial  writer  on  the  Herald,  an 
independent  paper.  I'd  known  him  all  his  life, 
and  his  wife  —  too,  a  mighty  sweet-looking  lady 
she  was.  I'd  always  thought  Farwell  was  kind  of  a 
dreamer,  and  too  excitable;  he  was  always  read- 
ing papers  to  literary  clubs,  and  on  the  speech- 
making  side  he  wasn't  so  bad  -  -  he  liked  it;  but 
he  hadn't  seemed  to  me  to  know  any  more  about 
politics  and  people  than  a  royal  family  would.  He 
was  always  talking  about  life  and  writing  about 
corruption,  when,  all  the  time,  so  it  struck  me,  it 
Vas  only  books  he  was  really  interested  in;  and  he 
saw  things  along  book  lines.  Of  course  he  was  a 
tin  god,  politically. 

He  was  for  "stern  virtue"  only,  and  everlast- 
ingly lashed  compromise  and  temporizing;  called 
politicians  all  the  elegant  hard  names  there  are, 


BOSS  GORGETT  9 

in  every  one  of  his  editorials,  especially  Lafe  Gor- 
gett,  whom  he'd  never  seen.  He  made  mighty  free 
with  Lafe,  referred  to  him  habitually  as  "Bood- 
ler  Gorgett",  and  never  let  up  on  him  from  one 
year's  end  to  another. 

I  was  against  our  adopting  him,  not  only  for 
our  own  sakes  —  because  I  knew  he'd  be  a  hard 
man  to  handle  —  but  for  Farwell's  too.  I'd  been  a 
friend  of  his  father's,  and  I  liked  his  wife  - 
everybody  liked  his  wife.  But  the  boys  overruled 
me,  and  I  had  to  turn  in  and  give  it  to  him. 

Not  without  a  lot  of  misgivings,  you  can  be 
sure.  I  had  one  little  experience  with  him  right  at 
the  start  that  made  me  uneasy  and  got  me  to 
thinking  he  was  what  you  might  call  too  literary, 
or  theatrical,  or  something,  and  that  he  was  more 
interested  in  being  things  than  doing  them.  I'd 
been  aware,  ever  since  he  got  back  from  Harvard, 
that  /  was  one  of  his  literary  interests,  so  to  speak. 
He  had  a  way  of  talking  to  me  in  a  quizzical,  con- 
descending style,  in  the  belief  that  he  was  draw- 
ing me  out,  the  way  you  talk  to  some  old  book- 
peddler  in  your  office  when  you've  got  nothing  to 


10  IN  THE  ARENA 

do  for  a  while;  and  it  was  easy  to  see  he  regarded 
me  as  a  "character"  and  thought  he  was  study- 
ing me.  Besides,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  study  the 
wickedness  of  politics  in  a  Parkhurstian  fashion, 
and  I  was  one  of  the  lost. 

One  day,  just  after  we'd  nominated  him,  he 
came  to  me  and  said  he  had  a  friend  who  wanted 
to  meet  me.  Asked  me  couldn't  I  go  with  him 
right  away.  It  was  about  five  in  the  afternoon;  I 
hadn't  anything  to  do  and  said,  "Certainly," 
thinking  he  meant  to  introduce  me  to  some  friend 
of  his  who  thought  I'd  talk  politics  with  him.  I 
took  that  for  granted  so  much  that  I  didn't 
ask  a  question,  just  followed  along  up  street, 
talking  weather.  He  turned  in  at  old  General 
Buskirk's,  and  may  I  be  shot  if  the  person  he 
meant  wasn't  Buskirk's  daughter,  Bella!  He'd 
brought  me  to  call  on  a  girl  young  enough  to  be 
my  daughter.  Maybe  you  won't  believe  I  felt  like 
a  fool! 

I  knew  Buskirk,  of  course  (he  didn't  appear), 
but  I  hadn't  seen  Bella  since  she  was  a  child. 
She'd  been  "highly  educated"  and  had  been  liv- 


BOSS  GORGETT  11 

ing  abroad  a  good  deal,  but  I  can't  say  that  my 
visit  made  me  for  her  —  not  very  strong.  She  was 
good-looking  enough,  in  her  thinnish,  solemn 
way,  but  it  seemed  to  me  she  was  kind  of  over- 
dressed and  too  grand.  You  could  see  in  a  minute 
that  she  was  intense  and  dreamy  and  theatrical 
with  herself  and  superior,  like  Farwell;  and  I 
guess  I  thought  they  thought  they'd  discovered 
they  were  "  kindred  souls, "  and  that  each  of  them 
understood  (without  saying  it)  that  both  of  them 
felt  that  FarwelPs  lot  in  life  was  a  hard  one  be- 
cause Mrs.  Knowles  wasn't  up  to  him.  Bella  gave 
him  little,  quiet,  deep  glances,  that  seemed  to  help 
her  play  the  part  of  a  person  who  understood 
everything  —  especially  him,  and  reverenced 
greatness  —  especially  his.  I  remember  a  fellow 
who  called  the  sort  of  game  it  struck  me  they  were 
carrying  on  "  those  soully  flirtations. " 

Well,  sir,  I  wasn't  long  puzzling  over  why  he 
had  brought  me  up  there.  It  stuck  out  all  over, 
though  they  didn't  know  it,  and  would  have  been 
mighty  astonished  to  think  that  I  saw.  It  was  in 
their  manner,  in  her  condescending  ways  with 


12  IN  THE  ARENA 

me,  in  her  assumption  of  serious  interest,  and  in 
his  going  through  the  trick  of  "  drawing  me  out, " 
and  exhibiting  me  to  her.  I'll  have  to  admit  that 
these  young  people  viewed  me  in  the  light  of  a 
"character."  That  was  the  part  Farwell  had  me 
there  to  play. 

I  can't  say  I  was  too  pleased  with  the  notion, 
and  I  was  kind  of  sorry  for  Mrs.  Knowles,  too. 
I'd  have  staked  a  good  deal  that  my  guess  was 
right,  for  instance :  that  Farwell  had  gone  first  to 
this  girl  for  her  congratulations  when  he  got  the 
nomination,  instead  of  to  his  wife;  and  that  she 
felt  —  or  pretended  she  felt  —  a  soully  sympathy 
with  his  ambitions;  that  she  wanted  to  be,  or  to 
play  the  part  of,  a  woman  of  affairs,  and  that  he 
talked  over  everything  he  knew  with  her.  I 
imagined  they  thought  they  were  studying 
political  reform  together,  and  she,  in  her  novel- 
reading  way,  wanted  to  pose  to  herself  as  the 
brilliant  lady  diplomat,  kind  of  a  Madam  Roland 
advising  statesmen,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
And  I  was  there  as  part  of  their  political  studies, 
an  object-lesson,  to  bring  her  "more  closely  in 


BOSS  GORGETT  IS 

touch"  (as  Farwell  would  say)  with  the  realities 
he  had  to  contend  with.  I  was  one  of  the  "  evils 
of  politics, "  because  I  knew  how  to  control  a  few 
wards,  and  get  out  the  darkey  vote  almost  as 
well  as  Gorgett.  Gorgett  would  have  been  better, 
but  Farwell  couldn't  very  easily  get  at  him. 

I  had  to  sit  there  for  a  little  while,  of  course,  like 
a  ninny  between  them;  and  I  wasn't  the  more 
comfortable  because  I  thought  Knowles  looked 
like  a  bigger  fool  than  I  did.  Bella's  presence 
seemed  to  excite  him  to  a  kind  of  exaltation ;  he 
had  a  dark  flush  on  his  face  and  his  eyes  were 
large  and  shiny. 

I  got  out  as  soon  as  I  could,  naturally,  wonder- 
ing what  my  wife  would  say  if  she  knew;  and 
while  I  was  fumbling  around  among  the  knick- 
knacks  and  fancy  things  in  the  hall  for  my  hat 
and  coat,  I  heard  Farwell  get  up  and  cross  the 
room  to  a  chair  nearer  Bella,  and  then  she  said, 
in  a  sort  of  pungent  whisper,  that  came  out  to  me 
distinctly: 

"My  knight!"  That's  what  she  called  him. 
44 My  knight!"  That's  what  she  said. 


14  IN  THE  AJRENA 

I  don't  know  whether  I  was  more  disgusted  with 
myself  for  hearing,  or  with  old  Buskirk  who  spent 
his  whole  time  frittering  around  the  club  library, 
and  let  his  daughter  go  in  for  the  sort  of  soulli- 
ness  she  was  carrying  on  with  Farwell  Knowles. 

Trouble  in  our  ranks  began  right  away.  Our 
nominee  knew  too  much,  and  did  all  the  wrong 
things  from  the  start;  he  began  by  antagonizing 
most  of  our  old  wheel-horses;  he  wouldn't  consult 
with  us,  and  advised  with  his  own  kind.  In  spite 
of  that,  we  had  a  good  organization  working  for 
him,  and  by  a  week  before  election  I  felt  pretty 
confident  that  our  show  was  as  good  as  Gorgett's. 
It  looked  like  it  would  be  close. 

Just  about  then  things  happened.  We  had 
dropped  onto  one  of  Lafe's  little  tricks  mighty 
smartly.  We  got  one  of  his  heelers  fixed  (of 
course  we  usually  tried  to  keep  all  that  kind  of 
work  dark  from  Farwell  Knowles),  and  this  heeler 
showed  the  whole  business  up  for  a  considera- 
tion. There  was  a  precinct  certain  to  be  strong  for 
Knowles,  where  the  balloting  was  to  take  place 


BOSS  GORGETT  15 

in  the  office-room  of  a  hook-and-ladder  company. 
In  the  corner  was  a  small  closet  with  one  shelf, 
high  up  toward  the  ceiling.  It  was  in  the  good  old 
free  and  easy  Hayes  and  Wheeler  times,  and 
when  the  polls  closed  at  six  o'clock  it  was  planned 
that  the  election  officers  should  set  the  ballot-box 
up  on  this  shelf,  lock  the  closet  door,  and  go  out 
for  their  suppers,  leaving  one  of  each  side  to 
watch  in  the  room  so  that  nobody  could  open  the 
closet-door  with  a  pass-key  and  tamper  with  the 
ballots  before  they  were  counted.  Now,  the  ceil- 
ing over  the  shelf  in  the  closet  wasn't  plastered, 
and  it  formed,  of  course,  part  of  the  flooring  in 
the  room  above.  The  boards  were  to  be  loosened 
by  a  Gorgett  man  upstairs,  as  soon  as  the  box 
was  locked  in ;  he  would  take  up  a  piece  of  plank- 
ing —  enough  to  get  an  arm  in  —  and  stuff  the 
box  with  Gorgett  ballots  till  it  grunted.  Then  he 
would  replace  the  board  and  slide  out.  Of  course, 
when  they  began  the  count  our  people  would  know 
there  was  something  wrong,  but  they  would  be 
practically  up  against  it,  and  the  precinct  would 
be  counted  for  Gorgett. 


16  IN  THE  ARENA 

They  brought  the  heeler  up  to  me,  not  at  head- 
quarters (I  was  city  chairman)  but  at  a  hotel 
room  I'd  hired  as  a  convenient  place  for  the  more 
important  conferences  and  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  every  Tom-Dick-and-Harry  grafter. 
Bob  Crowder,  a  ward  committee-man,  brought 
him  up  and  stayed  in  the  room,  while  the  fel- 
low--his  name  was  Genz  —  went  over  the 
whole  thing. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  says  Bob,  when 
Genz  finished.  "Ain't  it  worth  the  money?  I  de- 
clare, it's  so  neat  and  simple  and  so  almighty 
smart  besides,  I'm  almost  ashamed  some  of  our 
boys  hadn't  thought  of  it  for  us. " 

I  was  just  opening  my  mouth  to  answer,  when 
there  was  a  signal  knock  at  the  door  and  a  young 
fellow  we  had  as  a  kind  of  watcher  in  the  next 
room  (opening  into  the  one  I  used)  put  his  head 
in  and  said  Mr.  Knowles  wanted  to  see  me. 

"  Ask  him  to  wait  a  minute, "  said  I,  for  I  didn't 
want  him  to  know  anything  about  Genz.  "I'll  be 
there  right  away." 

Then  came  Farwell  Knowles's  voice  from  the 


BOSS  GORGETT  17 

other  room,  sharp  and  excited.  "  I  believe  I'll  not 
wait,"  says  he.  "I'll  come  in  there  now!" 

And  that's  what  he  did,  pushing  by  our  watch- 
er before  I  could  hustle  Genz  into  the  hall  through 
an  outer  door,  though  I  tried  to.  There's  no  de- 
nying it  looked  a  little  suspicious. 

Farwell  came  to  a  dead  halt  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

"I  know  that  person!"  he  said,  pointing  at 
Genz,  his  brow  mighty  black.  "I  saw  him  and 
Crowder  sneaking  into  the  hotel  by  the  back  way, 
half  an  hour  ago,  and  I  knew  there  was  some  dev- 
ilish —  " 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,  Farwell,"  said  I. 

He  was  pretty  hot.  "I'll  be  obliged  to  you,"  he 
returned,  "if  you'll  explain  what  you're  doing 
here  in  secret  with  this  low  hound  of  Gorgett's. 
Do  you  think  you  can  play  with  me  the  way  you 
do  with  your  petty  committee-men  ?  If  you  do,  I'll 
show  you!  You're  not  dealing  with  a  child,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  be  tricked  or  sold  out  of  this 
elec- 

I  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  sat  him  down 


18  IN  THE  ARENA 

hard  on  a  cane-bottomed  chair.  "That's  a  dirty 
thought, "  said  I,  "  and  if  you  knew  enough  to  be 
responsible  I  reckon  you'd  have  to  account  for  it. 
As  it  is  —  why,  I  don't  care  whether  you  apolo- 
gize or  not." 

He  weakened  right  away,  or,  at  least,  he  saw 
his  mistake.  "  Then  won't  you  give  me  some  ex- 
planation," he  asked,  in  a  less  excitable  way, 
"why  are  you  closeted  here  with  a  notorious 
member  of  Gorgett's  ring?" 

"  No,  "said  I,  "I  won't." 

"Be  careful,"  said  he.  "This  won't  look  well 
in  print." 

That  was  just  so  plumb  foolish  that  I  began  to 
laugh  at  him;  and  when  I  got  to  laughing  I 
couldn't  keep  up  being  angry.  It  was  ridiculous, 
his  childishness  and  suspiciousness.  Right  there 
was  where  I  made  my  mistake. 

"All  right,"  says  I  to  Bob  Crowder,  giving  way 
to  the  impulse.  "He's  the  candidate.  Tell  him." 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  asks  Bob,  surprised. 

"Yes.  Tell  him  the  whole  thing." 

So  Bob  did,  helped  by  Genz,  who  was  more  or 


BOSS  GORGETT  19 

less  sulky,  of  course:  and  is  wasn't  long  till  I  saw 
how  stupid  I'd  been.  Knowles  went  straight  up  in 
the  air. 

"I  knew  it  was  a  dirty  business,  politics,"  he 
said,  jumping  out  of  his  chair,  "but  I  didn't  re- 
alize  it  before.  And  I'd  like  to  know,"  he  went  on, 
turning  to  me,  "how  you  learn  to  sit  there  so 
calmly  and  listen  to  such  iniquities.  How  do  you 
dull  your  conscience  so  that  you  can  do  it  ?  And 
what  course  do  you  propose  to  follow  in  the  mat- 
ter of  this  confession  ?" 

"Me?"  I  answered.  "Why,  I'm  going  to  send 
supper  in  to  our  fellows,  and  the  box'll  never 
see  that  closet.  The  man  upstairs  may  get  a  little 
tired.  I  reckon  the  laugh's  on  Gorgett;  it's  his 
scheme  and  —  ' 

Farwell  interrupted  me;  his  face  was  outrag- 
eously red.  "What!  You  actually  mean  you 
hadn't  intended  to  expose  this  infamy?" 

"  Steady,"  I  said.  I  was  getting  a  little  hot,  too, 
and  talked  more  than  I  ought.  "Mr.  Genz  here 
has  our  pledge  that  he's  not  given  away,  or  he'd 
never  have  —  " 


20  IN  THE  ARENA 

" Mister  Genz!"  sneered  Farwell.  "Mister 
Genz  has  your  pledge,  has  he  ?  Allow  me  to  tell 
you  that  I  represent  the  people,  the  honest  people, 
in  this  campaign,  and  that  the  people  and  I  have 
made  no  pledges  to  Mister  Genz.  You've  paid  the 
scoundrel  —  3 

"Here!"  says  Genz. 

"The  scoundrel!"  Farwell  repeated,  his  voice 
rising  and  rising,  "paid  him  for  his  information, 
and  I  tell  you  by  that  act  and  your  silence  on  such 
a  matter  you  make  yourself  a  party  to  a  con- 
spiracy." 

"Shut  the  transom,"  says  I  to  Crowder. 

"I'm  under  no  pledge,  I  say,"  shouted  Far- 
well,  "and  I  do  not  compound  felonies.  You're 
not  conducting  my  campaign.  I'm  doing  that, 
and  I  don't  conduct  it  along  such  lines.  It's  pre- 
cisely the  kind  of  fraud  and  corruption  that  I  in- 
tend to  stamp  out  in  this  town,  and  this  is  where  I 
begin  to  work." 

"How?  "said  I. 

"You'll  see  —  and  you'll  see  soon!  The  peni- 
tentiaries are  built  for  just  this  —  * 


BOSS  GORGETT  21 

"Sfe,  sh  !"  said  I,  but  he  paid  no  attention. 

"They  say  Gorgett  owns  the  Grand  Jury,"  he 
went  on.  "Well,  let  him!  Within  a  week  I'll  be 
mayor  of  this  town  —  and  Gorgett's  Grand  Jury 
won't  outlast  his  defeat  very  long.  By  his  own 
confession  this  man  Genz  is  party  to  a  conspiracy 
with  Gorgett,  and  you  and  Crowder  are  witnesses 
to  the  confession.  I'll  see  that  you  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  giving  your  testimony  before  a  Grand  Jury 
of  determined  men.  Do  you  hear  me?  And  to- 
morrow afternoon's  Herald  will  have  the  whole 
infamous  story  to  the  last  word.  I  give  you  my 
solemn  oath  upon  it!" 

All  three  of  us,  Crowder,  Genz,  and  I,  sprang 
to  our  feet.  We  were  considerably  worked  up,  and 
none  of  us  said  anything  for  a  minute  or  so,  just 
looked  at  Knowles. 

"Yes,  you're  a  little  shocked/'  he  said.  "It's 
always  shocking  to  men  like  you  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  honesty  that  won't  compromise.  You 
needn't  talk  to  me;  you  can't  say  anything  that 
would  change  me  to  save  your  lives.  I've  taken  my 
oath  upon  it,  and  you  couldn't  alter  me  a  hair's 


22  IN  THE  ARENA 

breadth  if  you  burned  me  at  a  slow  fire.  Ligbi» 
light,  that's  what  you  need,  the  light  of  day  and 
publicity!  I'm  going  to  clear  this  town  of  fraud, 
and  if  Gorgett  don't  wear  the  stripes  for  this  my 
name's  not  Farwell  Knowles!  He'll  go  over  the 
road,  handcuffed  to  a  deputy,  before  three  months 
are  gone.  Don't  tell  me  I'm  injuring  you  and  the 
party  by  it.  Pah!  It  will  give  me  a  thousand 
more  votes.  I'm  not  exactly  a  child,  my  friends! 
On  my  honour,  the  whole  thing  will  be  printed  in 
to-morrow's  paper!" 

"For  God's  sake  -  "  Crowder  broke  out,  but 
Knowles  cut  him  off. 

"I  bid  you  good-afternoon,"  he  said,  sharply. 
We  all  started  toward  him,  but  before  we'd  got 
half  across  the  room  he  was  gone,  and  the  door 
slammed  behind  him. 

Bob  dropped  into  a  chair;  he  was  looking  con- 
siderably pale;  I  guess  I  was,  too,  but  Genz  was 
ghastly. 

"Let  me  out  of  here,"  he  said  in  a  sick  voice, 
"Let  me  out  of  here!" 

"Sit  down!"  I  told  him. 


BOSS  GORGETT  ft) 

"Just  let  me  out  of  here,"  he  said  again.  And 
before  I  could  stop  him,  he'd  gone,  too,  in  a  blind 
hurry. 

Bob  and  I  were  left  alone,  and  not  talking  any. 

Not  for  a  while.  Then  Bob  said:  "Where  do 
you  reckon  he's  gone?" 

"Reckon  who's  gone?" 

"Genz." 

"ToseeLafe." 

"What?" 

"  Of  course  he  has.  What  else  can  he  do  ?  He'a 
gone  up  any  way.  The  best  he  can  do  is  to  try  to 
square  himself  a  little  by  owning  up  the  whole 
thing.  Gorgett  will  know  it  all  any  way,  to- 
morrow afternoon,  when  the  Herald  corner 
out." 

"I  guess  you're  right,"  said  Bob.  "We're  done 
up  along  with  Gorgett;  but  I  believe  that  idiot's 
Tight,  he  won't  lose  votes  by  playing  hob  with  us* 
What's  to  be  done?" 

"Nothing, "  I  answered.  "You  can't  head  Far- 
well  off.  It's  all  my  fault,  Bob. " 

"Isn't  there  any  way  to  get  hold  of  him?  A 


24  IN  THE  ARENA 

crazy  man  could  see  that  his  best  friend  couldn't 
beg  it  out  of  him,  and  that  he  wouldn't  spare  any 
of  us;  but  don't  you  know  of  some  bludgeon  we 
could  hang  up  over  him  ?  " 

"Nothing.  It's  up  to  Gorgett." 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  "Lafe's  mighty  smart,  but 
it  looks  like  God-help- Gorgett  now!" 

Well,  sir,  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  better  to 
do  than  to  go  around  and  see  Gorgett;  so,  after 
waiting  long  enough  for  Genz  to  see  him  and  get 
away,  I  went.  Lafe  was  always  cool  and  slow; 
but  I  own  I  expected  to  find  him  flustered,  and 
was  astonished  to  see  right  away  that  he  wasn't. 
He  was  smoking,  as  usual,  and  wearing  his  hat, 
as  he  always  did,  indoors  and  out,  sitting  with  his 
feet  upon  his  desk,  and  a  pleasant  look  of  con- 
templation on  his  face. 

"Oh,"  says  I,  "then  Genz  hasn't  been  here?" 

"Yes,"  says  he,  "he  has.  I  reckon  you  folks 
have  'most  spoiled  Genz's  usefulness  for  me. " 

"You're  taking  it  mighty  easy,"  I  told  him. 

"Yep.  Isn't  it  all  in  the  game  ?  What's  the  use 
of  getting  excited  because  you've  blocked  us  on 


BOSS  GORGETT  *5 

one  precinct  ?  We'll  leave  that  closet  out  of  our 
calculations,  that's  all." 

"Almighty  Powers,  I  don't  mean  that !  Didn't 
Genz  tell  you  —  " 

"About  Mr.  Knowles  and  the  Herald?  Oh, 
yes,"  he  answered,  knocking  the  ashes  off  his 
cigar  quietly.  "And  about  the  thousand  votes 
he'll  gain  ?  Oh,  yes.  And  about  incidentally  show- 
ing you  and  Crowder  up  as  bribing  Genz  and 
promising  to  protect  him  —  making  your  meth- 
ods public?  Oh,  yes.  And  about  the  Grand 
Jury?  Yes,  Genz  told  me.  And  about  me  and 
the  penitentiary.  Yes,  he  told  me.  Mr.  Knowles 
is  a  rather  excitable  young  man.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"Well?" 

"Well,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"Trouble!"  I  said.  "I'd  like  to  know  what 
you're  going  to  do  ?" 

"What's  Knowles  going  to  do?" 

"He's  sworn  to  expose  the  whole  deal,  as 
you've  just  told  me  you  knew;  one  of  the  prelim- 
inaries to  having  us  all  up  before  the  next  Grand 


*S  IN  THE  ARENA 

Jury  and  sending  you  and  Gena  over  the  road, 
that's  all!" 

Gorgett  laughed  that  old,  fat  laugh  of  his, 
tilting  farther  back,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets and  his  eyes  twinkling  under  his  last  summer's 
straw  hat-brim. 

"He  can't  hardly  afford  it,  can  he,"  he  drawl- 
ed, "  he  being  the  representative  of  the  law  and 
order  and  purity  people  ?  They're  mighty  sensi- 
tive, those  folks.  A  little  thing  turns  'em. " 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  L 

"Well,  I  hardly  reckoned  you  would,"  he  re* 
turned.  "  But  I  expect  if  Mr.  Knowles  wants  it 
warm  all  round,  I'm  willing.  We  may  be  able 
to  do  some  of  the  heating  up,  ourselves. " 

This  surprised  me,  coming  from  him,  and  I 
felt  pretty  sore.  "You  mean,  then,"  I  said,  "that 
you  think  you've  got  a  line  on  something  our  boys 
have  been  planning  —  like  the  way  we  got  onto 
the  closet  trick  —  and  you're  going  to  show  us  up 
because  we  can't  control  Knowles;  that  you  hold 
that  over  me  as  a  threat  unless  I  shut  him  up  ? 
Then  I  tell  you  plainly  I  know  I  can't  shut  him 


BOSS  GORGETT  <ff 

up,  and  you  can  go  ahead  and  do  us  the  worst  you 


can.' 


"  Whatever  little  tricks  I  may  or  may  not  have 
discovered,"  he  answered,  "that  isn't  what  I 
mean,  though  I  don't  know  as  I'd  be  above  mak- 
ing such  a  threat  if  I  thought  it  was  my  only  way 
to  keep  out  of  the  penitentiary.  I  know  as  well  as 
you  do  that  such  a  threat  would  only  give  Knowles 
pleasure.  He'd  take  the  credit  for  forcing  me  to 
expose  you,  and  he's  convinced  that  everything 
of  that  kind  he  does  makes  him  solider  with  the 
people  and  brings  him  a  step  nearer  this  chair  I'm 
sitting  in,  which  he  regards  as  a  step  itself  to  the 
governorship  and  Heaven  knows  what  not.  He 
thinks  he's  detached  himself  from  you  and  your 
organization  till  he  stands  alone.  That  boy's  head 
was  turned  even  before  you  fellows  nominated 
him.  He's  a  wonder.  I've  been  noticing  him  long 
before  he  turned  up  as  a  candidate,  and  I  believe 
the  great  surprise  of  his  life  was  that  John  the 
Baptist  didn't  precede  and  herald  him.  Oh,  no, 
going  for  you  wouldn't  stop  him  —  not  by  a 
thousand  miles.  It  would  only  do  him  good. " 


m  IN  THE  ARENA 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Are  you  go- 
img  to  see  him?" 

"No,  sir!"  Lafe  spoke  sharply. 

"Well,  well!  What?" 

"  I'm  not  bothering  to  run  around  asking  au- 
diences of  Farwell  Knowleses ;  you  ought  to  know 
tkmt!" 

"Given  it  up?" 

"  Not  exactly.  I've  sent  a  fellow  around  to  talk 
tehim." 

"What  use  will  that  be?" 

Grorgett  brought  his  feet  down  off  the  desk  with 
a  bang. 

'  Then  he  can  come  to  see  me,  if  he  wants  to. 
D'you  think  I've  been  fool  enough  not  to  know 
what  sort  of  man  I  was  going  up  against  ?  D'you 
tkink  that,  knowing  him  as  I  do,  I've  not  been 
ready  for  something  of  this  kind  ?  And  that's  all 
you'll  get  out  of  me,  this  afternoon!" 

And  it  was  all  I  did. 

It  may  have  been  about  one  o'clock,  that  night, 
er  perhaps  a  little  earlier,  as  I  lay  tossing  about, 


BOSS  GORGETT  29 

unable  to  sleep  because  I  was  too  much  disturb- 
ed in  my  mind  —  too  angry  with  myself  -  -  when 
there  came  a  loud,  startling  ring  at  the  front-door 
bell.  I  got  up  at  once  and  threw  open  a  window 
over  the  door,  calling  out  to  know  what  was 
wanted. 

"  It's  I, "  said  a  voice  I  didn't  know  -  a  que«i, 
hoarse  voice.  "  Come  down. " 

"Who's 'I'?"  I  asked. 

"Farwell  Knowles,"  said  the  voice."  Let  n&e 
in!" 

I  started,  and  looked  down. 

He  was  standing  on  the  steps  where  the  light  of 
a  street-lamp  fell  on  him,  and  I  saw  even  by  the 
poor  glimmer  that  something  was  wrong;  he  was 
white  as  a  dead  man.  There  was  something  wild 
in  his  attitude;  he  had  no  hat,  and  looked  all  mix- 
ed-up  and  disarranged. 

"Come  down  —  come  down!"  he  begged 
thickly,  beckoning  me  with  his  arm. 

I  got  on  some  clothes,  slipped  downstairs  with- 
out wakening  my  wife,  lit  the  hall  light,  and  took 
him  into  the  library.  He  dropped  in  a  chair  with  a 


SO  IN  THE  ARENA 

quick  breath  like  a  sob,  and  when  I  turned  from 
lighting  the  gas  I  was  shocked  by  the  change  in 
him  since  afternoon.  I  never  saw  such  a  look  be- 
fore. It  was  like  a  rat  you've  seen  running  along 
the  gutter  side  of  the  curbstone  with  a  terrier  af- 
ter it. 

"What's  the  matter,  Farwell?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  he  whispered. 

"What's  happened?" 

"It's  hard  to  tell  you,"  said  he.  "Oh,  but  it's 
hard  to  tell." 

"Want  some  whiskey?"  I  asked,  reaching  for 
a  decanter  that  stood  handy.  He  nodded  and  I 
gave  him  good  allowance. 

"Now,"  said  I,  when  he'd  gulped  it  down, 
"let's  hear  what's  turned  up. " 

He  looked  at  me  kind  of  dimly,  and  I'll  be  shot 
if  two  tears  didn't  well  up  in  his  eyes  and  run 
down  his  cheeks.  "  I've  come  to  ask  you, "  he  said 
slowly  and  brokenly,  "to  ask  you  —  if  you  won't 
intercede  with  Gorgett  for  me;  to  ask  you  if  you 
won't  beg  him  to  —  to  grant  me  —  an  interview 
before  to-morrow  noon." 


BOSS  GORGETT  31 

"What!" 

"Will  you  do  it ?" 

"Certainly.  Have  you  asked  for  an  interview 
with  him  yourself  ?  " 

He  struck  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  fore- 
head —  struck  hard,  too. 

"Have  I  tried?  I've  been  following  him  like  a 
dog  since  five  o'clock  this  afternoon,  beseeching 
him  to  give  me  twenty  minutes'  talk  in  private. 
He  laughed  at  me!  He  isn't  a  man;  he's  an  iron- 
hearted  devil !  Then  I  went  to  his  house  and  wait- 
ed three  hours  for  him.  When  he  came,  all  he 
would  say  was  that  you  were  supposed  to  be  run- 
ning this  campaign  for  me,  and  I'd  better  consult 
with  you.  Then  he  turned  me  out  of  his  house!" 

"You  seem  to  have  altered  a  little  since  this 
afternoon. "  I  couldn't  resist  that. 

"  This  afternoon ! "  he  shuddered.  "  I  think  that 
was  a  thousand  years  ago!" 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  him  for  ?  " 

"  What  for  ?  To  see  if  there  isn't  a  little  human 
pity  in  him  for  a  fellow-being  in  agony  —  to  end 
my  suspense  and  know  whether  or  not  he  means 


M  IN  THE  ARENA 

to  ruin  me  and  my  happiness  and  my  home  for- 
ever!" 

Farwell  didn't  seem  to  be  regarding  me  so 
much  in  the  light  of  a  character  as  usual;  still,  one 
thing  puzzled  me,  and  I  asked  him  how  he 
happened  to  come  to  me. 

"Because  I  thought  if  anyone  in  the  world 
could  do  anything  with  Gorgett,  you'd  be  the 
one,"  he  answered.  "Because  it  seemed  to  me 
he'd  listen  to  you,  and  because  I  thought  —  in 
my  wild  clutching  at  the  remotest  hope  —  that  he 
meant  to  make  my  humiliation  more  awful  by 
sending  me  to  you  to  ask  you  to  go  back  to  him 
for  me. " 

"Well,  well,"  I  said,  "  I  guess  if  you  want  me 
to  be  of  any  use  you'll  have  to  tell  me  what  it's 
all  about. " 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  and  choked,  with  a 
kind  of  despairing  sound;  "I  don't  see  any  way 
out  of  it. " 

"Go  ahead,"  I  told  him.  "I  reckon  I'm  old 
enough  to  keep  my  counsel.  Let  it  go,  Farwell. " 

"Do  you  know,"  he   began,  with  a  sharp, 


BOSS  GORGETT  3S 

grinding  of  his  teeth,  "  that  dishonourable  scound- 
rel has  had  me  watched,  ever  since  there  was  talk 
of  me  for  the  fusion  candidate  ?  He's  had  me  fol- 
lowed, shadowed,  till  he  knows  more  about  me 
than  I  do  myself. " 

I  saw  right  there  that  I'd  never  reallj  meas- 
ured Gorgett  for  as  tall  as  he  really  was.  "  Have  a 
cigar  ?  "  I  asked  Knowles,  and  lit  one  myself.  But 
he  shook  his  head  and  went  on: 

"You  remember  my  taking  you  to  call  on  Gen- 
eral Buskirk's  daughter?" 

"Quite  well,"  said  I,  puffing  pretty  hard. 

"  An  angel !  A  white  angel !  And  this  beast,  this 
boodler  has  the  mud  in  his  hands  to  desecrate  her 
white  garments!" 

"Oh,  "says  I. 

The  angel's  knight  began  to  pace  the  room  as 
he  talked,  clinching  and  unclinching  his  hands, 
while  the  perspiration  got  his  hair  all  scraggly  on 
his  forehead.  You  see  Farwell  was  doing  some 
suffering  and  he  wasn't  used  to  it. 

"When  she  came  home  from  abroad,  a  year 
ago, "  he  said,  "  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  light  came 


34  IN  THE  ARENA 

into  my  life.  IVe  got  to  tell  you  the  whole  thing/' 
he  groaned,  "  but  it's  hard !  Well,  my  wife  is  taken 
up  with  our  little  boy  and  housekeeping  —  I 
don't  complain  of  her,  mind  that  —  but  she 
really  hasn't  entered  into  my  ambitions,  my  inner 
life.  She  doesn't  often  read  my  editorials,  and 
when  she  does,  she  hasn't  been  serious  in  her  con- 
sideration of  them  and  of  my  purposes.  Some- 
times she  differed  openly  from  me  and  some- 
times greeted  my  work  for  truth  and  light  with 
indifference!  I  had  learned  to  bear  this,  and  more ; 
to  save  myself  pain  I  had  come  to  shrink  from 
exposing  my  real  self  to  her.  Then,  when  this 
young  girl  came,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
found  real  sympathy  and  knew  what  I  thought  I 
never  should  know;  a  heart  attuned  to  my  own,  a 
mind  that  sought  my  own  ideals,  a  soul  of  the 
same  aspirations  —  and  a  perfect  faith  in  what  I 
was  and  in  what  it  was  my  right  to  attain.  She 
met  me  with  open  hands,  and  lifted  me  to  my 
best  self.  What,  unhappily,  I  did  not  find  at 
home,  I  found  in  her  —  encouragement.  I  went 
to  her  in  every  mood,  always  to  be  greeted  by  the 


BOSS  GORGETT  9€ 

most  exquisite  perception,  always  the  same  deli- 
cate receptiveness.  She  gave  me  a  sister's  love!" 

I  nodded ;  I  knew  he  thought  so. 

"  Well,  when  I  went  into  this  campaign,  what 
more  natural  than  that  I  should  seek  her  ready 
sympathy  at  every  turn,  than  that  I  should  con- 
sult with  her  at  each  crisis,  and,  when  I  became 
the  fusion  candidate,  that  I  should  go  to  her  with 
the  news  that  I  had  taken  my  first  great  step  to- 
ward my  goal  and  had  achieved  thus  far  in  my 
struggle  for  the  cause  of  our  hearts  —  reform  ?" 
'You  went  up  to  Buskirk's  after  the  conven- 
tion?" I  asked. 

"No;  the  night  before."  He  took  his  head  in 
his  hands  and  groaned,  but  without  pausing  in 
his  march  up  and  down  the  room.  "You  re- 
member, it  was  known  by  ten  o'clock,  after  the 
primaries,  that  I  should  receive  the  nomination. 
As  soon  as  I  was  sure,  I  went  to  her;  and  I  found 
her  in  the  same  state  of  exaltation  and  pride  that 
I  was  experiencing  myself.  There  was  always  the 
answer  in  her,  I  tell  you,  always  the  response  that 
such  a  nature  as  mine  craves.  She  took  both  my 


06  IN  THE  ARENA 

hands  and  looked  at  me  just  as  a  proud  sister 
would.  *I  read  your  news/  she  said.  'It  is  in  your 
face!'  Wasn't  that  touching?  Then  we  sat  in  si- 
lence for  a  while,  each  understanding  the  other's 
joy  and  triumph  in  the  great  blow  I  had  struck 
for  the  right.  I  left  very  soon,  and  she  came  with 
me  to  the  door.  We  stood  for  a  moment  on  the 
step  —  and  —  for  the  first  time,  the  only  time  in 
my  life  —  I  received  a  —  a  sister's  caress. " 

"Oh,"  said  I.  I  understood  how  Gorgett  had 
managed  to  be  so  calm  that  afternoon. 

"It  was  the  purest  kiss  ever  given!"  Farwell 
groaned  again. 

;<  Who  was  it  saw  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  I  saw  the  tears  of 
rage  and  humiliation  welling  up  again  in  his  eyes. 

"We  might  as  well  have  been  standing  by 
the  footlights  in  a  theatre!"  he  burst  out,  broken- 
ly. "Who  saw  it?  Who  didn't  see  it?  Gorgett's 
sleuth-hound,  the  man  he  sent  to  me  this  after- 
noon, for  one;  the  policeman  on  the  beat  that 
he'd  stopped  for  a  chat  in  front  of  the  house,  for 
another;  a  maid  in  the  hall  behind  us,  the  police- 


BOSS  GORGETT  37 

man's  sweetheart  she  is,  for  another!  Oh!"  he 
cried,  "the  desecration!  That  one  caress,  one 
that  I'd  thought  a  sacred  secret  between  us  for- 
ever —  and  in  plain  sight  of  those  three  hideous 
vulgarians,  all  belonging  to  my  enemy,  Gorgett! 
Ah,  the  horror  of  it  —  what  horror !" 

Farwell  wrung  his  hands  and  sat,  gulping  as  if 
he  were  sick,  without  speaking  for  several  mo- 
ments. 

"What  terms  did  the  man  he  sent  offer  from 
Gorgett?"  I  asked. 

" No  terms!  He  said  to  go  ahead  and  print  my 
story  about  the  closet;  it  was  a  matter  of  perfect 
indifference  to  him;  that  he  meant  to  print  this 
about  me  in  their  damnable  party-organ  to- 
morrow, in  any  event,  and  only  warned  me  so 
that  I  should  have  time  to  prepare  Miss  Buskirk. 
Of  course  he  don't  care!  /'//  be  ruined,  that's  all. 
Oh,  the  hideous  injustice  of  it,  the  unreason! 
Don't  you  see  the  frightful  irony  of  it  ?  The  best 
thing  in  my  life,  the  widest  and  deepest;  my 
friendship  with  a  good  woman  becomes  a  joke 
and  a  horror!  Don't  you  see  that  the  personal 


38  IN  THE  ARENA 

scandal  about  me  absolutely  undermines  me  and 
nullifies  the  political  scandal  of  the  closet  affair  ? 
Gorgett  will  come  in  again  and  the  Grand  Jury 
would  laugh  at  any  attack  on  him.  I'm  ruined  for 
good,  for  good  and  all,  for  good  and  all!" 

"  Have  you  told  Miss  Buskirk  ?  " 

He  uttered  a  kind  of  a  shriek.  "No!  I  can't! 
How  could  I  ?  What  do  you  think  I'm  made  of  ? 
And  there's  her  father  —  and  all  her  relatives, 
and  mine,  and  my  wife  —  my  wife !  If  she  leaves 
me—" 

A  fit  of  nausea  seemed  to  overcome  him  and 
he  struggled  with  it,  shivering.  "My  God!  Do 
you  think  I  can  face  it  ?  I've  come  to  you  for  help 
in  the  most  wretched  hour  of  my  life  —  all  dark- 
ness, darkness!  Just  on  the  eve  of  triumph  to  be 
stricken  down  —  it's  so  cruel,  so  devilish!  And  to 
think  of  the  horrible  comic- weekly  misery  of  it, 
caught  kissing  a  girl,  by  a  policeman  and  his 
sweetheart,  the  chambermaid!  Ugh!  The  vulgar 
ridicule  —  the  hideous  laughter!"  He  raised  his 
hands  to  me,  the  most  grovelling  figure  of  a  man 
I  ever  saw. 


BOSS  GORGETT  :>j> 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake,  help  me,  help 
me.  ..." 

Well,  sir,  it  was  sickening  enough,  but  after  he 
had  gone,  and  I  tumbled  into  bed  again,  I  thought 
of  Gorgett  and  laughed  myself  to  sleep  with 
admiration. 

When  Farwell  and  I  got  to  Gorgett 's  office, 
fairly  early  the  next  morning,  Lafe  was  sitting 
there  alone,  expecting  us,  of  course,  as  I  knew  he 
would  be,  but  in  the  same  characteristic,  lazy  atti- 
tude I'd  found  him  in,  the  day  before ;  feet  up  on 
the  desk,  hat-brim  tilted  'way  forward,  cigar  in 
the  right-hand  corner  of  his  mouth,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  his  double-chin  mashing  down  his 
Jimp  collar.  He  didn't  even  turn  to  look  at  us 
as  we  came  in  and  closed  the  door. 

"Come  in,  gentlemen,  come  in,"  says  he,  not 
moving.  "  I  kind  of  thought  you'd  be  along,  about 
this  time." 

"  Looking  for  us,  were  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "Sit  down." 

We  did;  Farwell  looking  pretty  pale  and  red- 
eyed,  and  swallowing  a  good  deal. 


40  IN  THE  ARENA 

There  was  a  long,  long  silence.  We  just  sat  and 
watched  Gorgett.  /  didn't  want  to  say  anything; 
and  I  believe  Farwell  couldn't.  It  lasted  so  long 
that  it  began  to  look  as  if  the  little  blue  haze  at 
the  end  of  Lafe's  cigar  was  all  that  was  going  to 
happen.  But  by  and  by  he  turned  his  head  ever 
so  little,  and  looked  at  Knowles. 

"  Got  your  story  for  the  Herald  set  up  yet  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Farwell  swallowed  some  more  and  just  shook 
his  head. 

"Haven't  begun  to  work  up  the  case  for  the 
Grand  Jury  yet  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Farwell,  in  almost  a  whisper, 
his  head  hanging. 

"Why,"  Lafe  said,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  surprise; 
"  you  haven't  given  all  that  up,  have  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  ain't  that  strange  ?  "  said  Lafe."  What's 
•the  trouble?" 

Knowles  didn't  answer.  In  fact,  I  felt  mighty 
sorry  for  him. 

All  at  once,  Gorgett's  manner  changed;  he 


BOSS  GORGETT  41 

threw  away  his  cigar,  the  only  time  I  ever  saw 
him  do  it  without  lighting  another  at  the  end  of  it. 
His  feet  came  down  to  the  floor  and  he  wheeled 
round  on  Farwell. 

"  I  understand  your  wife's  a  mighty  ni«e  lady, 
Mr.  Knowles." 

FarwelPs  head  sank  lower  till  we  couldn't  see 
his  face,  only  his  fingers  working  kind  of  pitifully. 

"I  guess  you've  had  rather  a  bad  night?"  said 
Gorgett,  inquiringly. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  The  words  came  out  in  a 
whisper  from  under  Knowles's  tilted  hat-brim. 

"  I  believe  I'd  advise  you  to  stick  to  your  wife," 
Gorgett  went  on,  quietly,  "  and  let  politics  alone. 
Somehow  I  don't  believe  you're  the  kind  of  man 
for  it.  I've  taken  considerable  interest  in  you  for 
some  time  back,  Mr.  Knowles,  though  I  don't 
suppose  you've  noticed  it  until  lately;  and  I  don't 
believe  you  understand  the  game.  You've  said 
some  pretty  hard  things  in  your  paper  about  me ; 
you've  been  more  or  less  excitable  in  your  state- 
ments; but  that's  all  right.  What  I  don't  like  al- 
together, though,  is  that  it  seems  to  me  you've 


42  IN  THE  ARENA 

been  really  tooting  your  own  horn  all  the  time  — 
calling  everybody  dishonest  and  scoundrels,  to 
shove  yourself  forward.  That  always  ends  in  sort 
of  a  lonely  position.  I  reckon  you  feel  considerably 
lonely,  just  now?  Well,  yesterday,  I  understand 
you  were  talking  pretty  free  about  the  peniten- 
tiary. Now,  that  ain't  just  the  way  to  act,  accord- 
ing to  my  notion.  It's  a  bad  word.  Here  we  are, 
he  and  I "  -  he  pointed  to  me  —  "  carrying  on  our 
little  fight  according  to  the  rules,  enjoying  it  and 
blocking  each  other,  gaining  a  point  here  and 
losing  one  there,  everything  perfectly  good- 
natured,  when  yon  turn  up  and  begin  to  talk 
about  the  penitentiary!  That  ain't  quite  the  thing. 
You  see  words  like  that  are  liable  to  stir  up  the 
passions.  It's  dangerous.  You  were  trusted,  when 
they  told  you  the  closet  story,  to  regard  it  as  a 
confidence  —  though  they  didn't  go  through  the 
form  of  pledging  you  —  because  your  people  had 
given  their  word  not  to  betray  Genz.  But  you 
couldn't  see  it  and  there  you  went,  talking  about 
the  Grand  Jury  and  stripes  and  so  on,  stirring  up 
passions  and  ugly  feelings.  And  I  want  to  tell  you 


BOSS  GORGETT  48 

that  the  man  who  can  afford  to  do  that  has  to  be 
mighty  immaculate  himself.  The  only  way  to  play 
politics,  whatever  you're  /or,  is  to  learn  the  game 
first.  Then  you'll  know  how  far  you  can  go  and 
what  your  own  record  will  stand.  There  ain't  a 
man  alive  whose  record  will  stand  too  much,  Mr. 
Knowles  —  and  when  you  get  to  thinking  about 
that  and  what  your  own  is,  it  makes  you  feel  more 
like  treating  your  fellow-sinners  a  good  deal 
gentler  than  you  would  otherwise.  Now  I've  got 
a  wife  and  two  little  girls,  and  my  old  mother's 
proud  of  me  (though  you  wouldn't  think  it) 
and  they'd  hate  it  a  good  deal  to  see  me  sent  over 
the  road  for  playing  the  game  the  best  I  could  as 
I  found  it." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  sad  and  al- 
most embarrassed.  "It  ain't  any  great  pleasure 
to  me,"  he  said,  "to  think  that  the  people  have 
let  it  get  to  be  the  game  that  it  is.  But  I  reckon  it's 
good  for  you.  I  reckon  the  best  thing  that  ever 
happened  to  you  is  having  to  come  here  this 
morning  to  ask  mercy  of  a  man  you  looked 
down  on." 


44  IN  THE  ARENA 

Farwell  shifted  a  little  in  his  chair,  but  he 
didn't  speak,  and  Gorgett  went  on : 

"I  suppose  you  think  it's  mighty  hard  that 
your  private  character  should  be  used  against  you 
in  a  political  question  by  a  man  you  call  a  public 
corruptionist.  But  I'm  in  a  position  where  I  can't 
take  any  chances  against  an  antagonist  that  won't 
play  the  game  my  way.  I  had  to  find  your  vulner- 
able point  to  defend  myself,  and,  in  finding  it,  I 
find  that  there's  no  need  to  defend  myself  any 
longer,  because  it  makes  all  your  weapons  inef- 
fective. I  believe  the  trouble  with  you,  Mr. 
Knowles,  is  that  you've  never  realized  that  poli- 
ticians are  human  beings.  But  we  are :  we  breathe 
and  laugh  and  like  to  do  right,  like  other  folks. 
And,  like  most  men,  you've  thought  you  were  dif- 
ferent from  other  men,  and  you  aren't.  So,  here 
you  are.  I  believe  you  said  you'd  had  a  hard 
night?" 

Knowles  looked  up  at  last,  his  lips  working  for 
a  while  before  he  could  speak.  "  I'll  resign  now  — 
if  you'll  -  if  you'll  let  me  off, "  he  said. 

Gorgett  shook  his  head.  "  I've  got  the  election 


BOSS  GORGETT  45 

in  my  hand,"  he  answered,  "though  you  fellows 
don't  know  it.  You've  got  nothing  to  offer  me, 
and  you  couldn't  buy  me  if  you  had. " 

At  that,  Knowles  just  sank  into  himself  with  a 
little,  faint  cry,  in  a  kind  of  heap.  There  wasn't 
anything  but  anguish  and  despair  to  him.  Big 
tears  were  sliding  down  his  cheeks. 

I  didn't  say  anything.  Gorgett  sat  looking  at 
him  for  a  good  while ;  and  then  his  fat  chin  began 
to  tremble  a  little  and  I  saw  his  eyes  shining  in 
the  shadow  under  his  old  hat-brim. 

He  got  up  and  went  over  to  Farwell  with  slow 
steps  and  put  his  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

"Go  on  home  to  your  wife,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice  that  was  the  saddest  I  ever  heard.  "  I  don't 
bear  you  any  ill-will  in  the  world.  Nobody's  going 
to  give  you  away. " 


THE  ALIENS 


1  IETRO  TOBIGLI,  that  gay  young  chest- 
nut vender  —  he  of  the  radiant  smiles  —  gave 
forth,  in  his  warm  tenor,  his  own  interpreta- 
tion of  "Ach  du  lieber  Augustine,"  whenever 
Bertha,  rosy  waitress  in  the  little  Geriaan  restau- 
rant, showed  her  face  at  the  door.  For  a  month  it 
had  been  a  courtship;  and  the  merchant  sang 
often : 

"Ahaha,  du  libra  Ogostine> 

Ogostine,  Ogostine! 
Ahaha,  du  libra  Ogostine, 
Nees  coma  ross." 

The  acquaintance,  begun  by  the  song  and  Pie- 
tro's  wonderful  laugh,  had  grown  tender.  The 
chestnut  vender  had  a  way  with  him;  he  looked 
like  the  "Neapolitan  Fisher  Lad"  of  the  chro- 
mos,  and  you  could  have  fancied  him  of  two  cen- 


50  IN  THE  ARENA 

turies  ago,  putting  a  rose  in  his  hair;  even  as  it 
was,  he  had  the  ear-rings.  But  the  smile  of  him 
it  was  that  won  Bertha,  when  she  came  to  work 
in  the  little  restaurant.  It  was  a  smile  that  put 
the  world  at  its  ease;  it  proclaimed  the  coming  of 
morning  over  the  meadows,  and,  taking  every 
bystander  into  an  April  friendship,  ran  on  sud- 
denly into  a  laugh  that  was  like  silver,  and  like  a 
strange  puppy's  claiming  you  for  the  lost  master. 

So  it  befell  that  Bertha  was  fascinated;  that, 
blushing,  she  laughed  back  to  him,  and  was  noth- 
ing offended  when,  at  his  first  sight  of  her,  he 
rippled  out  at  once  into  "Ahaha,  du  libra 
Ogostine." 

Within  two  weeks  he  was  closing  his  business 
(no  intricate  matter)  every  evening,  to  walk 
home  with  her,  through  the  September  moon- 
light. Then  extraordinary  tilings  happened  to 
the  English  language. 

"I  ain'd  nefer  can  like  no  foreigner!"  she 
often  joked  back  to  a  question  of  his.  "Nefer, 
nefer!  you  t'ink  I'm  takin'  up  mit  a  hant-orkan 
maan,  Mister  Toby?" 


THE  ALIENS  51 

Whereupon  he  would  carol  out  the  tender 
taunt,  "  Ahaha,  du  libra  Ogostine!" 

"  Yoost  a  hant-orkan  maan!" 

"No!  No!  No  oragan!  I  am  a  greata  —  greata 
merchant.  Vote  a  Republican!  Polititshian !  To- 
bigli,  Chititzen  Republican.  Naturalasize !  March 
in  a  parade!" 

Never  lived  native  American  prouder  of  his 
citizenship  than  this  adopted  one.  Had  he  not 
voted  at  the  election  ?  Was  he  not  a  member  of 
the  great  Republican  party?  He  had  eagerly 
joined  it,  for  the  reason  that  he  had  been  a  Re- 
publican in  Italy,  and  he  had  drawn  with  him  to 
the  polls  his  second  cousin,  Leo  Vesschi,  and  the 
five  other  Italians  with  whom  he  lived.  For  this, 
he  had  been  rewarded  by  Pixley,  his  precinct 
committee-man,  who  allowed  him  to  carry  pink 
torches  in  three  night  processions. 

"You  keeb  oud  politigs,"  said  Bertha,  earn- 
estly, one  evening.  "My  uncle,  Louie  Gratz,  he 
iss  got  a  neighbour-lady;  her  man  gone  in  politigs. 
Af tervorts  he  git  it !  He  iss  in  der  bennidenshierry 
two  years.  You  know  why?" 


52  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Democrat!"  shouted  the  chestnut  vender 
triumphantly. 

"No,  sir!  Yoost  politigs,"  replied  the  unparti- 
san  Bertha.  "You  keeb  oud  politigs." 

"Ahaha,  du  libra  Ogostine, 

Ogostine,  Ogostine! 
Ahaha,  du  libra  Ogostine, 
Nees  coma  ross." 

The  song  was  always  a  teasing  of  her  and 
carried  all  his  friendly  laughter  at  her,  be- 
cause of  her  German  ways ;  but  it  became  softly 
exultant  whenever  she  betrayed  her  interest  in 
him. 

"Libra  Ogostine,  she  afraid  I  go  penitensh?" 
he  inquired. 

"Me!"  she  jeered  with  uneasy  laughter.  "I 
ain'd  care!  but  you  —  you  don*  look  oud,  you 
git  in  dod  voikhouse!" 

He  turned  upon  her,  suddenly,  a  face  like  a 
mother's,  and  touched  her  hand  with  a  light 
caress. 


THE  ALIENS  53 

"I  stay  in  a  workhouse  sevena-hunder'  year," 
he  said  gently,  "you  come  seeta  by  window 
some-a-time." 

At  this  Bertha  turned  away,  was  silent  for  a 
space,  leaning  on  the  gate-post  in  front  of  her 
uncle's  house,  whither  they  were  now  come.  Fi- 
nally she  answered  brokenly:  "I  ain'd  sit  by  no 
vinder  for  yoost  a  jessnut  maan."  This  was  her 
way  of  stimulating  his  ambition. 

"Ahaha!"  he  cried.  "You  don'  know?  I'm 
goin'  buy  beeg  stan'!  Candy!  Peanut!  BananM 
Make  some-a-time  four  dollar  a  day!  Tis  a 
greata  countra!  Bimaby  git  a  store!  Ride  a  bug- 
gy! Smoke  a  cigar!  You  play  piano!  Vote  a  Re- 
publican!" 

"Toby!" 

"Tistrue!" 

"Toby,"  she  said  tearfully;  "Toby,  you  voik 
hart,  und  safe  your  money  ?" 

"You  help?"  he  whispered. 

"I  help  —  you!"  she  cried  loudly.  Then,  with 
a  sudden  fit  of  sobbing,  she  flung  open  the  gate 
and  ran  at  the  top  of  her  speed  into  the  house. 


54  IN  THE  ARENA 

Halcyon  the  days  for  Pietro  Tobigli,  extrava- 
gant the  jocularity  of  this  betrothed  one.  And,  as 
his  happiness,  so  did  his  prosperity  increase;  the 
little  chestnut  furnace  became  the  smallest  ad- 
junct of  his  affairs;  for  he  leaped  (almost  at  one 
bound)  to  the  proprietorship  of  a  wooden  stand, 
shaped  like  the  crate  of  an  upright  piano  and 
backed  up  against  the  brick  wall  of  the  restau- 
rant —  a  mercantile  house  which  was  closed  at 
night  by  putting  the  lid  on.  All  day  long  Toby's 
smile  arrested  pedestrians,  and  compelled  them 
to  buy  of  him,  making  his  wares  sweeter  in  the 
mouth.  Bertha  dwelt  in  a  perpetual  serenade: 
on  warm  days,  when  the  restaurant  doors  were 
open,  she  could  hear  him  singing,  not  always 
"Ogostine,"  but  festal  lilts  of  Italy,  liquid  and 
strangely  sweet  to  her;  and  at  such  times,  when 
the  actual  voice  was  not  in  her  ears,  still  she 
blushed  with  delight  to  hear  in  her  heart  the 
thrilling  echoes  of  his  barcaroles,  and  found 
them  humming  cheerily  upon  her  own  lips. 

Toby  was  to  save  five  hundred  dollars  before 
they  married,  a  great  sum,  but  they  were  patient 


THE  ALIENS  55 

and  both  worked  very  hard.  The  winter  would 
have  fallen  bitterly  upon  an  outdoor  merchant 
lacking  Toby's  confident  heart,  but  on  the  cold- 
est days,  when  Bertha  looked  out,  she  always 
found  him  slapping  his  hands  and  trudging  up 
and  down  in  the  snow  in  front  of  the  little  box; 
and,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  her  —  "  Aha- 
ha,  du  libra  Ogostine,  Ogostine,  Ogostine!" 

She  saved  her  own  money  with  German  persist- 
ence, and  on  Christmas  day  her  present  to  her 
betrothed,  in  return  for  a  coral  pin,  was  a  pair  of 
rubber  boots  filled  with  little  cakes. 

Elysium  was  the  dwelling-place  of  Pietro  To- 
bigli,  though,  apparently,  he  abode  in  a  horrible 
slum  cellar  with  Leo  Vesschi  and  the  five  Latti 
brothers.  In  this  place  our  purveyor  of  sweet- 
meats was  the  only  light.  Thither  he  had  car- 
ried his  songs  and  his  laugh  and  his  furnace 
when  he  came  from  Italy  to  join  Vesschi;  and 
there  he  remained,  partly  out  of  loyalty  to  his  un- 
prosperous  comrades,  and  partly  because  his 
share  of  the  expense  was  only  twenty-five  cents 
a  week,  and  every  saving  was  a  saving  for  Ber- 


4t>  IN  THE  XRENA 

tha.  Every  evening,  on  the  homeward  walk,  the 
affianced  pair  passed  the  hideous  stairway  that 
led  down  to  the  cellar,  and  Bertha,  neat  soul, 
never  failed  to  shudder  at  it.  She  did  not  know 
that  Pietro  lived  there,  for  he  feared  it  might 
distress  her;  nor  could  she  ever  persuade  him  to 
tell  her  where  he  lived. 

Because  of  this  mystery,  upon  which  he  mer- 
rily insisted,  she  affected  a  fear  that  he  would 
some  day  desert  her.  "You  don'  tell  me  where 
you  lif ,  I  t'ink  you  goin'  ran  away  of  me,  Toby. 
I  vake  opp  some  day;  git  a  ledder  dod  you  gone 
back  home  by  'Talian  lady  dod's  grazy  'bout 
you!" 

"Ahaha!  Libra  Ogostine,  you  believe  I  can 
make  a  write  weet  a  pen-a-paper  ?  I  don'  know 
that-a  how.  Some-a-time  you  see  that  gran'  palazzo 
where  I  leef.  Eesa  greata-great  sooraprise!" 

In  the  gran'  palazzo,  it  was  as  much  as  he 
could  do  to  keep  clean  his  own  grim  little  bunk 
in  the  corner.  His  comrades,  sullen,  hopeless, 
came  at  evening  from  ten  hours'  desperate  shov- 
elling, and  exhibited  no  ambition  for  water  or 


THE  ALIENS  .57 

brooms,  but  sat  hunched  and  silent,  or  morosely 
muttering  and  coughing,  in  the  dark  room  with 
its  sodden  earthen  floor,  stained  walls,  and  one 
smoky  lamp. 

To  this  uncomfortable  chamber  repaired,  one 
March  evening,  Mr.  Frank  Pixley,  Republican 
precinct  committee-man,  nor  was  its  dinginess 
an  unharmonious  setting  for  that  political  bril- 
liant. He  was  a  pock-pitted,  damp-looking,  soiled 
little  fungus  of  a  man,  who  had  attained  to  his 
office  because,  in  the  dirtiest  precinct  of  the  wick- 
edest ward  in  the  city,  he  had,  through  the  opera- 
tion of  a  befitting  ingenuity,  forced  a  recognition 
of  his  leadership.  From  such  an  office,  manned  by 
a  Pixley,  there  leads  an  upward  ramification  of 
wires,  invisible  to  all  except  manipulators,  which 
extends  to  higher  surfaces.  Usually  the  Pixley 
is  a  deep-sea  puppet,  wholly  controlled  by  the 
dingily  gilded  wires  that  run  down  to  him;  but 
there  are  times  when  the  Pixley  gives  forth  initial 
impulses  of  his  own,  such  as  may  alter  the  upper 
surface;  for,  in  a  system  of  this  character,  every 
twitch  is  felt  throughout  the  whole  ramification. 


58  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Hello,  boys,"  the  committee-man  called  out 
with  automatic  geniality,  as  he  descended  the 
broken  steps.  "How  are  ye?  All  here?  That's 
good;  that's  the  stuff!  Good  work!" 

Only  Toby  replied  with  more  than  an  indif- 
ferent grunt;  but  he  ran  forward,  carrying  an 
empty  beer  keg  which  he  placed  as  a  seat  for 
the  guest. 

"AhaAa,  Meesa  Peeslay!  Make  a  parade? 
Torchlight?  Bandaplay--  ta  ra,  la  la  la?  Fire- 
work ?  Fzzz !  Bourn !  Eh  ?  " 

The  politician  responded  to  Toby's  extrava- 
gantly friendly  laughter  with  some  mechanical 
cachinnations  which,  like  an  obliging  salesman, 
he  turned  on  and  off  with  no  effort.  "Not  by  a 
dern  sight!"  he  answered.  "The  campaign  ain't 
begun  yet." 

"Champagne?"  inquired  Tobigli  politely. 

"Campaign,  campaign,"  explained  Pixley. 
"Not  much  champagne  in  yours!"  he  chuckled 
beneath  his  breath.  "  Blame  lucky  to  git  Chicago 
bowl!" 

"What  is  that,  that  campaign ?" 


THE  MIENS  6* 

"  Why  —  why,  it's  the  campaign.  Workin'  up 
public  sentiment;  gittin'  you  boys  in  line,  'lect- 
ioneerin'  -  -  fixin'  it  right." 

Tobigli  shook  his  head.  "Campaign?"  he  re- 
peated. 

"Why  —  Gee,  you  know!  Free  beer,  cigars, 
speakin',  handshaking  paradin'- 

"Ahaha!"  The  merchant  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  shout*  "Yes!  Hoor-r-ra!  Vote  a  Republi- 
can! Dam-a  Democrat!" 

"That's  it,"  replied  the  committee-man  some- 
what languidly.  "You  see,  this  is  a  Republican 
precinct,  and  it  turns  the  ward  - 

"Allaways  a  Republican!"  vociferated  Pietro. 
" That  eesa  right?" 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  "of  course,  which- 
ever way  you  go,  you  want  to  follow  your  pre- 
cinct committee-man  —  that's  me." 

"  Yess!  Vote  a  Republican." 

Pixley  looked  about  the  room,  his  little  red 
eyes  peering  out  cannily  from  under  his  crooked 
brows  at  each  of  the  sulky  figures  in  the  damp 
shadows. 


60  IN  THE  ARENA 

*You  boys  all  vote  the  way  Pete  says?"  he 
asked. 

"Vote  same  Pietro,"  answered  Vesschi.  " Alla- 
ways." 

"  Allaways  a  Republican,"  added  Pietro  spark- 
ingly,  with  abundant  gesture.  "  'Tis  a  greata-great 
countra.  Republican  here  same  a  Republican  at 
home  —  eena  Etallee.  Republican  eternall !  All 
good  Republican  eena  thees  house!  Hoor-r-ra!" 

"Well,"  said  Pixley,  with  a  furtiveness  half 
habit,  as  he  rose  to  go,  "of  course,  you  want  to 
keep  your  eye  on  your  committee-man,  and  kind 
of  f oiler  along  with  him,  whatever  he  does.  That's 
me."  He  placed  a  dingy  bottle  on  the  keg.  "I 
jest  dropped  in  to  see  how  you  boys  were  gittin' 
along  —  mighty  tidy  little  place  you  got  here." 
He  changed  the  stub  of  his  burnt-out  cigar  to  the 
other  side  of  his  mouth,  shifting  his  eyes  in  the 
opposite  direction,  as  he  continued  benevolently: 
"  I  thought  I'd  look  in  and  leave  this  bottle  o'  gin 
fer  ye,  with  my  compliments.  I'll  be  around  ag'in 
some  evenin',  and  I  reckon  before  'lection  day 
comes  there  may  be  somep'n  doin'  -  - 1  might 


THE  ALIKNS  61 

have  better  fer  ve  than  a  bottle.  Keep  your  eye 
on  me,  boys,  an'  f  oiler  the  leader.  That's  the  idea. 
So  long!" 

"Vote  a  Republican!"  Pietro  shouted  after 
him  gaily. 

Pixley  turned. 

"Jest  f  oiler  yer  leader,"  he  rejoined.  "That's 
the  way  to  learn  politics,  boys." 

Now  as  the  rough  spring  wore  on  into  the  hap- 
pier season,  with  the  days  like  spiced  warm  wine, 
when  people  on  the  street  are  no  longer  driven  by 
the  weather  but  are  won  by  it  to  loiter;  now,  in- 
deed, did  commerce  at  Toby's  new  stand  so 
mightily  thrive  that,  when  summer  came,  Ber- 
tha was  troubled  as  to  the  safety  of  Toby's 
profits. 

"You  yoost  put  your  money  by  der  builtun- 
loan  'sociation,  Toby,"  she  advised  gently.  "Dey 
safe  ut  fer  you." 

"T'ree  hunder'  fifta  dolla  —  no!"  answered 
her  betrothed.  "  I  keep  in  de  pock' ! "  He  showed 
her  where  the  bills  were  pinned  into  his  corduroy 


62  IN  THE  ARENA 

waistcoat  pocket.  "See!  Eesa  you!  Onna  my 
heart,  libra  Ogostine!" 

"Toby,  uf  you  ain'd  dake  ut  by  der  builtun- 
loan,  blease  put  ut  in  der  bink  ?  " 

"I  keep!"  he  repeated,  shaking  his  head  ser- 
iously. "In  t'ree-four  mont'  eesa  five-hunder- 
dolla.  Nobody  but  me  eesa  tross  weet  that 
money." 

Nor  could  Bertha  persuade  him.  It  was  their 
happiness  he  watched  over.  Who  to  guard  it  as 
he,  the  dingy,  precious  parcel  of  bills  ?  He  pic- 
tured for  himself  a  swampy  forest  through  which 
he  was  laying  a  pathway  to  Bertha,  and  each 
of  the  soiled  green  notes  that  he  pinned  in  his 
waistcoat  was  a  strip  of  firm  ground  he  had 
made,  over  which  he  advanced  a  few  steps  nearer 
her.  And  Bertha  was  very  happy,  even  forget- 
ting, for  a  while,  to  be  afraid  of  the  smallpox, 
which  had  thrown  out  little  flags,  like  auction 
signs,  here  and  there  about  the  city. 

When  the  full  heat  of  summer  came,  Pietro 
laughed  at  the  dog-days;  and  it  was  Bertha's  to 
suffer  in  the  hot  little  restaurant;  but  she  smiled 


THE  ALIENS  63 

and  waved  to  Pietro,  so  that  he  should  not  know. 
Also  she  made  him  sell  iced  lemonade  and  birch 
beer,  which  was  well  for  the  corduroy  waistcoat 
pocket.  Never  have  you  seen  a  more  alluring 
merchant.  One  glance  toward  the  stand;  you 
caught  that  flashing  smile,  the  owner  of  it  a-tip- 
toe  to  serve  you;  and  Pietro  managed,  too,  by  a 
light  jog  to  the  table  on  which  stood  his  big,  be- 
dewed, earthen  jars,  that  you  became  aware  of 
the  tinkle  of  ice  and  a  cold,  liquid  murmur - 
what  mortal  could  deny  the  inward  call  and  pass 
without  stopping  to  buy  ? 

There  fell  a  night  in  September  when  Bertha 
beheld  her  lover  glorious.  She  had  been  warned 
that  he  was  to  officiate  in  the  great  opening  func- 
tion of  the  campaign ;  and  she  stood  on  the  corner 
for  an  hour  before  the  head  of  the  procession  ap- 
peared. On  they  came  —  Pietro's  party,  three 
thousand  strong;  brass  bands,  fireworks,  red 
fire,  tumultuous  citizens,  political  clubs,  local 
potentates  in  open  carriages,  policemen,  boys, 
dogs,  bicycles  —  the  procession  doing  all  the 
cheering  for  itself,  the  crowds  of  spectators  only 


64  IN  THE  ARENA 

feebly  responding  to  this  enthusiasm,  as  is  our 
national  custom.  At  the  end  of  it  all  marched  a 
plentiful  crew  of  tatterdemalions,  a  few  bleared 
white  men,  and  the  rest  negroes.  They  bore  aloft 
a  crazy  transparency,  exhibiting  the  legend : 

"FRANK  PIXLEY'S  HARD-MONEY  LEAGUE. 
WE  STAND  FOR  OUR  PRINCIPALS. 

WE  ARE  SOLLID  ! 

No  FOOLING  THE  PEOPLE  GOES! 

WE  VOTE  AS  ONE  MAN  FOR 

TAYLOR  P.  SINGLETON!" 


Bertha's  eyes  had  not  rested  upon  Toby 
where  they  innocently  sought  him,  in  the  front 
ranks,  even  scanning  the  carriages,  seeking 
him  in  all  positions  which  she  conceived  as  high- 
est in  honour,  and  she  would  have  missed  him  al- 


THE  ALIENS  65 

together,  had  not  there  reached  her,  out  of  cha- 
otic clamours,  a  clear,  high,  rollicking  tenor: 

"Ahaha  !  du  libra  Ogostine, 

Ogostine,  Ogostine! 
Ahaha!  du  libra  Ogostine, 
Nees  coma  ross!" 

Then  the  eager  eyes  found  their  pleasure,  for 
there,  in  the  last  line  of  Pixley's  pirates,  the  very 
tail  of  the  procession,  danced  Pietro  Tobigli, 
waving  his  pink  torch  at  her,  proud,  happy,  tri- 
umphant, a  true  Republican,  believing  all  com- 
pany equal  in  the  republic,  and  the  rear  rank  as 
good  as  the  first. 

"Vote  a  Republican!"  he  shouted.  "Republi- 
can —  Republican  eternall!" 

Strangely  enough,  a  like  fervid  protestation 
(vociferated  in  greeting)  evoked  no  reciprocal 
enthusiasm  in  the  breast  of  Mr.  Pixley,  when  the 
committee-man  called  upon  Toby  and  his  friends 
at  their  apartment  one  evening,  a  fortnight  laten. 


66  IN  THE  ARENA 

"That's  right,"  he  responded  languidly. 
"That's  right  in  gineral,  I  should  say.  Cert'nly, 
in  gineral,  I  ain't  got  no  quarrel  with  no  man's 
Republicanism.  But  this  here's  kind  of  a  put- 
tickler  case,  boys.  The  election's  liable  to  be 
mighty  close." 

"Republican  win!"  laughed  Toby.  "Meelyun 
man  eena  parade!" 

Mr.  Pixley's  small  eyes  lowered  furtively.  He 
glanced  once  toward  the  door,  stroked  his  stubby 
chin,  and  answered  softly:  "Don't  you  be  too 
sure  of  that,  young  feller.  Them  banks  is  fightin' 
each  other  ag'in!" 

"Bank?  Fight?  Wat  eesa  that?"  inquired 
the  merchant,  with  an  entirely  blank  mind. 

"There's  one  thing  it  ain't/9  replied  the  other, 
in  the  same  confidential  tone.  "It  ain't  no  two- 
by-four  campaign.  All  I  got  to  say  to  you  boys 
is:  Toiler  yer  leader' — and  you'll  wear  pearl 
collar-buttons!" 

"  Vote  a  Republican,"  interjected  Leo  Vesschi 
gutturally. 

The    furtiveness    of    Mr.    Pixley    increased. 


THE  ALIENS  67 

''Well  —  mebbe,"  he  responded,  very  deliber- 
ately. "I  reckon  I  better  put  you  boys  next, 
right  now's  well's  any  other  time.  Ain't  nothin' 
ever  gained  by  not  bein'  open  V  above-board; 
that's  my  motto,  and  I  ack  up  to  it.  You  kin  ast 
'em,  jest  ast  the  boys,  and  you'll  hear  it  from 
each-an-dall :  "Frank  Pixley's  square!9  That's 
what  they'U  tell  ye.  Now  see  here,  this  is  the  way 
it  is.  I  ain't  worryin'  much  about  who  goes  to  the 
legislature,  or  who's  county-commissioners,  nor 
none  o'  that.  Why  ain't  I  worryin'  ?  Because  it's 
picayune.  It's  peanut  politics.  It  ain't  where  the 
money  is.  No,  sir,  this  campaign  is  on  the  treas- 
urership.  Taylor  P.  Singleton  is  runnin'  fer  treas- 
urer on  the  Republican  ticket,  and  Gil.  Maxim 
on  the  Democratic.  But  that  ain't  where  the 
fight  is."  Mr.  Pixley  spat  contemptuously.  "Pah! 
whichever  of  'em  gits  it  won't  no  more'n  draw 
his  salary.  It's  the  banks.  If  Singleton  wins  out, 
the  Washington  National  gits  the  use  of  the 
county's  money  fer  the  term ;  if  Maxim's  elected, 
Florenheim's  bank  gits  it.  Florenheim  laid  down 
the  cash  fer  Maxim's  nomination,  and  the  Wash- 


68  IN  THE  ARENA 

ington  National  fixed  it  fer  Singleton.  And  it's 
big  money,  don't  you  git  no  wrong  idea  about 
that!" 

'6  Vote  a  Republican,"  said  Toby  politely. 

A  look  of  pain  appeared  upon  the  brow  of  the 
committee-man. 

"I  reckon  I  ain't  hardly  made  myself  clear," 
he  observed,  somewhat  plaintively.  "  Now  here, 
you  listen:  I  reckon  it  would  be  kind  of  resky  to 
trust  you  boys  to  scratch  the  ticket  —  it's  a  mix- 
ed up  business,  anyway  - 

"Vote  a  straight!"  cried  Pietro,  nodding  his 
head,  cheerfully.  "  Yess!  I  teach  Leo;  yess,  teach 
all  these"  -  he  waved  his  hands  to  indicate  the 
melancholy  listeners  —  "  teach  them  all.  Stamp 
in  a  circle  by  that  eagle.  Vote  a  Republican!" 

"What  I  was  goin'  to  say,"  went  on  the  offi- 
cial, exhibiting  tokens  of  impatience  and  per- 
turbation, "was  that  if  we  should  make  any 
switch  this  year,  I  guess  you  boys  would  have 
to  switch  straight." 

"'Tis  true!"  was  the  hearty  response.  "Vote 
a  straight  Republican.  Republican  eternall!" 


THE  ALIENS  69 

Pixley  wiped  his  forehead  with  a  dirty  hand- 
kerchief, and  scratched  his  head.  "  See  here,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause,  to  Toby.  "I've  got  to  go 
down  to  Collins's  saloon,  and  I'd  like  to  have  you 
come  along.  Feel  like  going?" 

"  Cert um alee,"  answered  Toby  with  alacrity, 
reaching  for  his  hat. 

But  no  one  could  have  been  more  surprised 
than  the  chestnut  vender  when,  on  reaching  the 
vacant  street,  his  companion  glancing  cautiously 
about,  beckoned  him  into  the  darkness  of  an 
alley-way,  and,  noiselessly  upsetting  a  barrel,  in- 
dicated it  as  a  seat  for  both. 

"Here,"  said  Pixley,  "I  reckon  this  is  better. 
Jest  two  men  by  theirselves  kin  fix  up  a  thing  like 
this  a  lot  quicker,  and  I  seen  you  didn't  want  to 
talk  too  much  before  them.  You  make  your  own 
deal  with  'em  afterwards,  or  none  at  all,  jest  as 
you  like!  They'll  do  whatever  you  say,  anyway. 
I  sized  you  up  to  run  that  bunch,  first  time  I  ever 
laid  eyes  on  the  outfit.  Now  see  here,  Pete,  you 
listen  to  me.  I  reckon  I  kin  turn  a  little  trick  here 
that'll  do  you  some  good.  You  kin  bet  I  see  that 


70  IN  THE  ARENA 

the  men  I  pick  fer  my  leaders  —  like  you,  Pete 
-  git  their  rights !  Now  here :  there's  you  and  the 
other  six,  that's  seven;  it'll  be  three  dollars  in 
your  pocket  if  you  deliver  the  goods." 

"No!  no!"  said  Pietro  in  earnest  protestation. 
"We  seven  a  good  Republican.  We  vote  a  Re- 
publican —  same  las '  time,  all  a  time.  Eesa  not  a 
need  to  pay  us  to  vote  a  Republican.  You  save 
that  a  money,  Meesa  Peaslay." 

"You  don't  understand,"  groaned  Pixley, 
with  an  inclination  to  weep  over  the  foreigner's 
thick-headedness.  "There's  a  chance  fer  a  big 
deal  here  for  all  the  boys  in  the  precinck.  Gil. 
Maxim's  backers'!!  pay  big  fer  votes  enough  to 
swing  it.  The  best  of  'em  don't  know  where 
they're  at,  I  tell  you.  Now  here,  you  see  here" — 
he  took  an  affectionate  grip  of  Pietro 's  collar  — 
"  I'm  goin'  to  have  a  talk  with  Maxim's  manager 
to-morrow,  I've  had  one  or  two  a'ready,  and  I'll 
put  up  the  price  all  round  on  them  people.  It's 
no  more'n  right,  when  you  count  up  what  we're 
doin'  fer  them.  Look  here,  you  swing  them  six  in 
line  and  march  'em  up,  and  all  of  ye  stamp  the 


THE  ALIENS  71 

rooster  instead  of  the  eagle  this  time,  and  help 
me  to  show  Maxim  that  Frank  Pixley's  there  with 
the  goods,  and  I'll  hand  you  a  five-dollar  bill  and 
a  full  box  o'  cigars,  see  ?" 

Pietro  nodded  and  smiled  through  the  dark- 
ness. "Stamp  that  eagle!"  he  answered,"Eesa 
all  right,  Meesa  Peasley.  Don't  you  have  afraid. 
We  all  seven  a  good  Republican!  Stamp  that 
eagle!  Hoor-r-ra!  Republican  eternall!" 

Pixley  was  left  sitting  on  the  barrel,  look- 
ing after  the  light  figure  of  the  young  man  joy- 
ously tripping  back  to  the  cellar,  and  turning  to 
wave  a  hand  in  farewell  from  the  street. 

"  Well,  I  am  damned ! "  the  politician  remarked, 
with  unwitting  veracity.  "  Did  the  dern  Dago 
bluff  me,  does  he  want  more,  er  did  he  reely 
didn't  un'erstand  fer  honest?"  Then,  as  he  took 
up  his  way,  crossing  the  street  at  the  warning  of 
some  red  and  green  smallpox  lanterns,  "I'll  git 
those  seven  votes,  though,  someway.  I'm  out  fer 
a  record  this  time,  and  I'll  git  'em!" 

Bertha  went  with  her  fiance  to  select  the  home 


72  IN  THE  ARENA 

that  was  to  be  theirs.  They  found  a  clean,  tidy, 
furnished  room,  with  a  canary  bird  thrown  in, 
and  Toby,  in  the  wild  joy  of  his  heart,  seized  his 
sweetheart  round  the  waist  and  tried  to  force  her 
to  dance  under  the  amazed  eyes  of  the  landlady. 

'You  yoost  behafed  awful!"  exclaimed  the 
blushing  waitress  that  evening,  with  tears  of 
laughter  at  the  remembrance. 

She  was  as  happy  as  her  lover,  except  for  two 
small  worries  that  she  had:  she  feared  that  her 
uncle,  Louie  Gratz,  with  whom  she  lived,  or  one 
of  her  few  friends,  might,  when  they  found  she 
was  to  marry  Toby,  allude  to  him  as  a  "  Dago," 
in  which  case  she  had  an  intuition  that  he  would 
slap  the  offender;  and  she  was  afraid  of  the  small- 
pox, which  had  caused  the  quarantine  of  two 
shanties  not  far  from  her  uncle's  house.  The 
former  of  her  fears  she  did  not  mention,  but  the 
latter  she  spoke  of  frequently,  telling  Pietro  how 
Gratz  was  panic-stricken,  and  talked  of  moving, 
and  how  glad  she  was  that  Toby's  "gran'  pa- 
lazzo"  was  in  another  quarter  of  the  city,  as  he 
had  led  her  to  believe.  Laughing  her  humours 


THE  ALIENS  73 

almost  away,  he  told  her  that  the  red  and  green 
lanterns,  threatening  murkily  down  the  street, 
were  for  only  wicked  ones,  like  that  Meesa 
Peaslay,  for  whom  she  discovered,  Pietro's  ad- 
miration had  diminished.  And  when  she  thought 
of  the  new  home  —  far  across  the  city  from  the 
ugly  flags  and  lanterns  -  -  the  tiny  room  with  its 
engraving  of  the  "Rock  of  Ages"  and  its  canary, 
she  forgot  both  her  troubles  entirely;  for  now, 
at  last,  the  marvellous  fact  was  assured:  the  five 
hundred  dollars  was  pinned  into  the  waistcoat 
pocket,  lying  upon  Pietro's  heart  day  and  night, 
the  precious  lump  that  meant  to  him  Bertha  and 
a  home.  The  good  Republican  set  election-day 
for  the  happiest  holiday  of  his  life,  for  that  would 
be  his  wedding-day. 

He  left  her  at  her  own  gate,  the  evening  be- 
fore that  glorious  day,  and  sang  his  way  down 
the  street,  feeling  that  he  floated  on  the  airy  up- 
lift of  his  own  barcarole  beneath  sapphire  skies, 
for  Bertha  had  put  her  arms  about  him  at  last. 

"Toby,"  she  said,  "lieber  Toby,  I  am  so  all- 
lofing  by  you  —  you  are  sitch  a  good  maan  —  I 


»  IN  THE  ARENA 

am  so  —  so  —  I  am  yoost  ail-lofing  by  you!'* 
And  she  cried  heartily  upon  his  shoulder.  "Toby, 
uf  you  ain'd  here  for  me  to-morrow  by  eckseckly 
dwelf  o'glock,  uf  you  are  von  minutes  late,  I'm 
goin'  yoost  fall  down  deat!  Don'  you  led  nothings 
happen  mit  you,  Toby." 

And  she  had  whispered  to  him,  in  love  with  his 
old  tender  mockery  of  her,  to  sing  "Libra  Ogos- 
tine"  for  her  before  he  said  good-night. 

Mr.  Pixley,  again  seated  upon  the  barrel 
which  he  had  used  for  his  interview  with  Toby, 
beheld  the  transfigured  face  of  the  young  man  as 
the  chestnut  vender  passed  the  mouth  of  the 
alley,  and  the  committee-man  released  from  his 
soul  a  burdening  profanity  in  the  ear  of  his  com- 
panion and  confidant,  a  policeman  who  would 
be  on  duty  in  Pixley's  precinct  on  the  morrow, 
and  who  had  now  reported  for  instructions  not 
necessarily  received  in  a  too  public  rendezvous. 

"After  I  talked  to  him  out  here  on  this  very 
barrel,"  said  Pixley,  his  anathema  concluded,  "  I 
raised  the  bid  on  him;  yessir,  you  kin  skin  me 
fer  a  dead  skunk  if  I  didn't  offer  him  ten  dollars 


THE  ALIENS  73 

and  a  box  of  etgrars  fer  the  bunch;  and  kim  jest 
settin'  there  laughin'  like  a  plumb  fool  and  tell- 
in'  me  I  didn't  need  to  worry,  they'd  all  vote 
Republican  fer  nothin'!  Talked  like  a  parrot: 
'Vote  a  Republican!  Republican  eternal!'  Re- 
publican! Faugh,  he  don't  know  no  more  why 
he's  a  Republican  than  a  yeller  dog'd  know!  I 
went  around  to-night,  when  he  was  out,  thought 
mebbe  I  could  fix  it  up  with  the  others.  No,  sir! 
Couldn't  git  nothing  out  of  'em  except  some 
more  parrot-cackle:  'Vote  same  Petro.  All  a 
good  Republican!'  It's  enough  to  sicken  a 
man!" 

"Do  we  need  his  gang  bad?"  inquired  the 
policeman  deferentially. 

"I  need  everybody  bad!  This  is  a  good-sized 
job  fer  me,  and  I  want  to  do  it  right.  Thro  win' 
the  precinck  to  Maxim  is  goin'  to  do  me  some 
wrong  with  the  Republican  crowd,  even  if  they 
don't  git  on  that  it  was  throwed;  and  I  want  to 
throw  it  good  !  I  couldn't  feel  like  I'd  done  right 
if  I  didn't.  I've  give  my  word  that  they'll  git  a 
majority  of  sixty-eight  votes,  and  that'll  be  jest 


76  IN  THE  ARENA 

twicet  as  much  in  my  pocket  as  a  plain  majority. 
And  I  want  them  seven  Dagoes !  I've  give  up  on 
votin9  'em;  it  can't  be  done.  It'd  make  a  saint 
cuss  to  try  to  reason  with  'em,  and  it's  no  good. 
They  can't  be  fooled,  neither.  They  know  where 
the  polls  is,  and  they  know  how  to  vote  —  blast 
the  Australian  ballot  system !  The  most  that  can 
be  done  is  to  keep  'em  away  from  the  polls." 

"  Can't  you  git  'em  out  of  town  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"D'  you  reckon  I  ain't  tried  that?  No,  sir! 
That  Dago  wouldn't  take  a  pass  to  heaven!  Ev- 
erything else  is  all  right.  Doc  Morgan's  niggers 
stays  right  here  and  votes.  I  know  them  boys, 
and  they'll  walk  up  and  stamp  the  rooster  all 
right,  all  right.  Them  other  niggers,  that  Hell- 
Valley  gang,  ain't  that  kind;  and  them  and 
Tooms's  crowd's  goin'  to  be  took  out  to  Smel- 
ter's ice-houses  in  three  express  wagons  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  ain't  goin'  to  cost  over 
two  dollars  a  head,  whiskey  and  all.  Then,  Dan 
Kelly  is  fixed,  and  the  Loo  boys.  Mike,  I  don't 
like  to  brag,  and  I  ain't  around  throwin'  no  bo- 


THE  ALIENS  77 

kays  at  myself  as  a  reg'lar  thing,  but  I  want  to 
say  right  here,  there  ain't  another  man  in  this 
city  --  no,  nor  the  State  neither  —  that  could  of 
worked  his  precinck  better'n  I  have  this.  I  tell 
you,  I'm  within  five  or  six  votes  of  the  majority 
they  set  for  their  big  money." 

"Have  you  give  the  Dagoes  up  altogether?" 
"No,  by-  -  !"  cried  the  committee-man 
harshly,  bringing  his  dirty  fist  down  on  the 
other's  knee.  "Did  you  ever  hear  of  Frank 
Pixley  weakenin'  ?  Did  you  ever  see  the  man  that 
said  Frank  Pixley  wasn't  game  ?"  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  a  ragged  and  sinister  silhouette  against  the 
sputtering  electric  light  at  the  alley  mouth. 
"Didn't  you  ever  hear  that  Frank  Pixley  had  a 
barrel  of  schemes  to  any  other  man's  bucket 
o'  wind?  What's  Frank  Pixley's  repitation,  lem- 
me  ast  you  that  ?  I  git  what  I  go  after,  don't  I  ? 
Now  look  here,  you  listen  to  me,"  he  said,  low- 
ering his  voice  and  shaking  a  bent  forefinger 
earnestly  in  the  policeman's  face;  "I'm  goin'  to 
turn  the  trick.  And  I  ought  to  do  it,  too.  That 
there  Pete,  he  ain't  worth  the  powder  to  blow 


78  IN  THE  ARENA 

him  up  —  you  couldn't  learn  him  no  politics  If 
you  set  up  with  him  night  after  night  fer  a  year. 
Didn't  I  try  ?  Try  ?  I  dern  near  bust  my  head 
open  jest  thinkin'  up  ways  to  make  the  flathead 
see.  And  he  wouldn't  make  no  effort,  jest  set 
there  and  parrot  out  'Vote  a  Republican!'  He's 
ongrateful,  that's  what  he  is.  Well,  him  and  them 
other  Dagoes  are  goin'  to  stay  at  home  fer  two 
weeks,  beginnin'  to-night." 

"I'll  be  dogged  if  I  see  how,"  said  the  police- 
man, lifting  his  helmet  to  scratch  his  head. 

"  I'll  show  you  how.  I  don't  claim  no  credit  fer 
the  idea,  I  ain't  around  blowin'  my  own  horn  too 
often,  but  I'd  like  fer  somebody  to  jest  show  me 
any  other  man  in  this  city  could  have  thought  it 
out!  I'd  like  to  be  showed  jest  one,  that's  all,  jest 
one!  Now,  you  look  here;  you  see  that  nigger 
shanty  over  there,  with  the  smallpox  lanterns 
outside?" 

The  policeman  shivered  slightly.  "Yes." 

"Look  here;  they're  rebuildin'  the  pest-house, 
ain't  they?" 

"Yes." 


THE  ALIENS  79 

"  Leavin'  smallpox  patients  in  their  own  holes 
under  quarantine  guard  till  they  git  a  place  to 
put  'em,  ain't  they?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  know  how  many  niggers  in  that  shack  ?  " 

"Four,  ain't  they?" 

"Yessir,  four  of  'em.  One  died  to-night,  an- 
other's goin'  to,  another  ain't  tellin'  which  way 
he's  goin'  yit;  and  the  last  one,  Joe  Cribbins,  was 
the  first  to  take  it;  and  he's  almost  plumb  as  good 
as  ever  ag'in.  He's  up  and  around  the  house, 
helpin'  nurse  the  sick  ones,  and  fit  f er  hard  labour. 
Now  look  here;  that  nigger  does  what  I  tell  him 
and  he  does  it  quick  —  see  ?  Well,  he  knows  what 
I  want  him  to  do  to-night.  So  does  Charley 
Gruder,  the  guard  over  there.  Charley's  fixed; 
1  seen  to  that;  and  he  knows  he  ain't  goin'  to  lose 
no  job  fer  the  nigger's  gittin'  out  of  the  back 
winder  to  go  make  a  little  sociable  call  this 
evening." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  policeman,  startled; 
"Charley  ain't  goin'  to  let  that  nigger  out!" 

"Ain't  he?  Oh,  you  needn't  worry,  he  ain't 


80  IN  THE  ARENA 

goin'  Jur!  All  he's  waiting  fer  is  fer  you  to  give 
the  signal." 

"Me!"  The  man  in  the  helmet  drew  back. 

"  Yessir,  you!  You  walk  out  there  and  lounge 
up  towards  the  drug-store  and  jest  look  over  to 
Charley  and  nod  twice.  Then  you  stand  on  the 
corner  and  watch  and  see  what  you  see.  When 
you  see  it,  you  yell  fer  Charley  and  git  into  the 
drug  store  telephone,  and  call  up  the  health  office 
and  git  their  men  up  here  and  into  that  Dago 
cellar  like  hell!  The  nigger'll  be  there.  They 
don't  know  him,  and  he'll  just  drop  in  to  try  and 
sell  the  Dagoes  some  policy  tickets.  You  under- 
stand me?" 

"Mother  Mary  in  heaven!"  The  policeman 
sprang  up.  "What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?"  shrilled  the  other, 
the  light  of  a  monstrous  pride  in  his  little  eyes. 
"I'm goin'  to  quarantine  them  Dagoes  fer  four- 
teen days.  They'll  learn  some  politics  before  I  git 
through  with  'em.  Maybe  they'll  know  enough 
United  States  language  to  f oiler  their  leader  next 
time!" 


THE  ALIENS  81 

"By  all  that's  mighty,  Pixley,"  said  the  police- 
man, with  an  admiration  that  was  almost  rever- 
ence, "you  are  a  schemer!" 

"Mem  Gott!"  screeched  Bertha's  uncle,  snap- 
ping his  teeth  fiercely  on  his  pipe-stem,  as  he 
flung  open  the  door  of  the  girl's  room.  "You 
want  to  disgraze  me  mit  der  whole  neighbour- 
hoot,  'lection  night?  Quid  ut!  Stob  ut!  Beoples 
in  der  streed  stant  owidside  und  litzen  to  dod 
grying.  You  voult  goin'  to  marry  mit  a  Dago 
mens,  voult  you!  Ha,  [ha!  Soife  you  right!  He 
run  away!"  The  old  man  laughed  unamiably. 
"Ha,  ha!  Dago  mens  foolt  dod  smard  Bertha. 
Dod's  pooty  tough.  But,  bei  Gott,  you  stop 
dod  noise  und  ect  lige  a  detzent  voomans,  or 
you  goin'  haf  droubles  mit  your  uncle  Louie 
Gratz!" 

But  Bertha,  an  undistinguishable  heap  on  the 
floor  of  the  unlit  room,  only  gasped  brokenly  for 
breath  and  wept  on. 

"Ach,  ach,  ach,  lieber  Gott  in  Himmel!"  sob- 
bed Bertha.  "Why  didn't  Toby  come  for  me? 


82  IN  THE  ARENA 

Ach,  ach!  What  iss  happened  mitToby?  Some- 
dings  iss  happened  —  I  know  ut!" 

"Ya,  ya!"  jibed  Gratz;  "somedings  iss  hep- 
pened,  I  bet  you!  Brop'ly  he's  got  anoder  vife, 
dod's  vot  heppened!  Brop'ly  leffing  ad  you  mit 
anoder  voomans !  Vot  for  dit  he  nef er  tolt  you 
vere  he  lif  ?  So  you  voultn't  ketch  him ;  dod's  der 
reason!  You're  a  pooty  vun,  you  are!  Runnin' 
ef ter  a  doity  Dago  mens !  Bei  Gott !  you  bedder  git 
oop  und  back  your  glo'es,  und  stob  dod  gryin'.  I'm 
goin'  to  mofe  owid  to-morrow;  und  you  kin  go 
verefer  you  blease.  I  ain'd  goin'  to  sday  anoder 
day  in  sitch  a  neighbourhoot.  Fife  more  small- 
pox lanterns  yoost  oop  der  streed.  I'm  goin'  mofe 
glean  to  der  oder  ent  of  der  city.  Und  you  can 
come  by  me  or  you  can  run  efter  your  Dago 
mens  und  his  voomans!  Dod's  why  he  dittn't 
come  to  marry  you,  you  grazy  —  ut's  a  voomans ! " 

"No,  no,"  screamed  Bertha,  stopping  her  ears 
with  her  forefingers.  "Lies,  lies,  lies!" 

A  slatternly  negro  woman  dawdled  down  the 
street  the  following  afternoon,  and,  encountering 


THE  ALIENS  83 

a  friend  of  like  description  near  the  cottage 
which  had  been  tenanted  by  Louie  Gratz  and  his 
niece,  paused  for  conversation. 

"  Howdy,  honey,"  she  began,  leaning  restfully 
against  the  gate-post.  "  How's  you  ma  ?" 

"She  right  spry,"  returned  the  friend.  "How 
you'self  an'  you  good  husban',  Miz  Mo'ton  ?" 

Mrs.  Morton  laughed  cheerily.  "Oh,  he  en- 
joyin'  de  'leckshum.  He  'uz  on  de  picnic  yas'dayv 
to  Smeltuh's  ice-houses;  an'  'count  er  Mist'  Max- 
im's gittin'  'lected,  dey  gi'n  him  bottle  er  whiskey 
an'  two  dollahs.  He  up  at  de  house  now,  entuh- 
tainin'  some  ge'lemen  f  rien's  wi'  de  bones,  honey. " 

"Um  hum."  The  other  lady  sighed  reflect- 
ively. "I  on'y  wisht  my  po'  husban'  could  er  live 
to  enjoy  de  fruits  er  politics." 

"Yas'm,"  returned  Mrs.  Morton.  "You  right. 
It  are  a  great  intrus'  in  a  man's  life.  Dat  what  de 
ornator  say  in  de  speech  f 'm  de  back  er  de  groce'y 
wagon,  yas'm,  a  great  intrus'  in  a  man's  life. 
Decla'h,  I  b'lieve  Goe'ge  think  mo'  er  politics 
dan  he  do  er  me!  Well  ma'am,"  she  concluded, 
glancing  idly  up  and  down  the  street  and  lean- 


84  IN  THE  ARENA 

ing  back  more  comfortably  against  the  gate- 
post, "I  mus'  be  goin'  on  my  urrant." 

"What  urrant's  dat?"  inquired  the  widow. 

"Mighty  quare  urrant,"  replied  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton. "  Mighty  quare  urrant,  honey.  You  see  back 
yon'eh  dat  new  smallpox  flag?" 

"Sho." 

"Well  ma'am,  night  fo'  las',  dat  Joe  Cribbins, 
dat  one-eye  nigger  what  sell  de  policy  tickets,  an's 
done  be'n  havin'  de  smallpox,  he  crope  out  de 
back  way,  when's  de  gyahd  weren't  lookin',  an', 
my  Lawd,  ef  dey  ain't  ketch  him  down  in  dat 
Dago  cellar,  tryin'  sell  dem  Dagoes  policy 
tickets!  Yahah,  honey!"  Mrs.  Morton  threw 
back  her  head  to  laugh.  "Ain't  dat  de  beatenest 
nigger,  dat  one-eyed  Joe?" 

"What  den,  Miz  Mo'ton?"  pursued  the  list- 
ener. 

"Den  dey  quahumteem  dem  Dagoes;  sot  a 
gyahd  dah :  you  kin  see  him  settin'  out  dah  now. 
Well  ma'am,  'cordin'  to  dat  gyahd,  one  er  dem 
Dagoes  like  ter  go  inter  fits  all  day  yas'day.  Dat 
man  hatter  go  in  an'  quiet  him  down  ev'y  few 


THE  ALIENS  85 

minute'.  Seem  't  he  boun'  sen'  a  message  an' 
cain't  git  no  one  to  ca'y  it  fer  him.  De  gyahd,  he 
cain't  go;  he  willin'  sen'  de  message,  but  cain't 
git  nobody  come  nigh  enough  de  place  fer  to  tell 
'em  what  it  is.  'Sides,  it  'leckshum-day,  an'  mos' 
folks  hangin'  'roun'  de  polls.  Well  ma'am,  dis 
aft'noon,  I  so'nter'n  by,  an'  de  gyahd  holler  out 
an'  ask  me  do  I  want  make  a  dollah,  an'  I  say 
I  do.  I  ain't  'fraid  no  smallpox,  done  had  it  two 
year'  ago.  So  I  say  I  take  de  message." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Law,  honey,  it  ain't  wrote.  Dem  Dago  folks 
hain't  got  no  writin'  ner  readin'.  Dey  mo'  er  less 
like  de  beasts  er  de  fiel'.  Dat  message  by  word  er 
mouf.  I  goin'  tell  nuffin  'bout  de  quahumteem. 
I'm  gotter  say:  'Toby  sen'  word  to  liebuh  Au- 
gustine dat  she  needn'  worry.  He  li'l  sick,  not 
much,  but  de  doctah  ain'  'low  him  out  fer  two 
weeks;  an'  'mejutly  at  de  en'  er  dat  time  he  come 
an'  git  her  an'  den  kin  go  on  home  wheres  de 
canary  bu'd  is.'  Honey,  you  evah  hyuh  o'  sich 
a  foolishness  ?  But  de  gyahd,  he  say  de  message 
gotter  be  ca'yied  dass  dataways." 


86  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Lan'  name!"  ejaculated  the  widow.  "Who 
dat  message  to?" 

"Hit  to  a  Dutch  gal." 

"My  Lawd!"  The  widow  lifted  amazed 
hands  to  heaven.  "  De  impidence  er  dem  Dagoes ! 
Little  mo'  an'  dey'll  be  sen'in'  messages  to  you  er 
me !  —  What  her  name  ?  " 

"Name  Bertha  Grass,"  responded  Mrs. 
Morton,  "an',  nigh  as  I  kin  make  out,  she  live 
in  one  er  dese  little  w'ite-paint  cottages,  right 
'long  yere." 

''Yas'm!  I  knows  dat  Dutch  gal,  ole  man 
Grass,  de  tailor,  dass  his  niece.  W'y,  dey  done 
move  out  dis  mawn,  right  f  um  dis  ve'y  house  you 
stan'in  in  front  de  gate  of.  De  ole  man  skeered 
er  de  smallpox,  an'  he  mad,  too,  an'  de  neighbuhs 
ask  him  whuh  he  gwine,  he  won't  tell;  so  mad 
he  won't  speak  to  nobody.  None  on  'em  'round 
hyuh  knows  an'  dey's  considabul  cyu'us  'bout 
it,  too.  Dey  gone  off  in  bof  e  d'rections  —  him  one 
way,  her  'nother.  Teah  lak  dey  be'n  quollun!" 

"Now  look  at  dat!"  cried  Mrs.  Morton  dole- 
fully. "Look  at  dat!  Ain't  dat  de  doggonest  luck 


THE  ALIENS  87 

in  de  wide  worP!  De  gyahd  he  say  dat  Dago 
willin'  pay  fifty  cents  a  day  fo'  me  to  teck  an' 
bring  a  message  eve'y  mawn'  tell  de  quahum- 
teem  took  off  de  cellar.  Now  dat  Dutch  gal  gone 
an'  loss  dat  money  fo'  me  —  movin'  'way  whuh 
nobody  cain't  fine  'er!" 

"Sho!"  laughed  the  widow.  "Ef  I'se  in  you 
place,  Miz  Mo'ton,  an'  you's  in  mine,  dat  money 
sho'lly,  sho'lly  nevah  would  be  los',  indeed  hit 
wouldn't.  I  dass  go  in  t'  de  do'  an'  tu'n  right 
'roun'  back  ag'in  an'  go  down  to  dat  gyahd  an' 
say  de  Dutch  gal  'ceive  de  message  wid  de  bes'  er 
'bligin'  politeness  an'  sent  her  kine  regyahds  to 
de  Dago  man  an'  all  inquirin'  frien's,  an'  hope 
de  Dago  man  soon  come  an'  git  'er.  To-morrer 
de  same,  nex'  day  de  same  - 

"Lawd,  ef  dat  ain't  de  beatenest!"  cried  Mrs. 
Morton  delightedly.  "Well,  honey,  I  thank  you 
long  as  I  live,  'cause  I  nevah'd  a  wuk  dat  out  by 
myself  in  de  livin'  worP,  an'  I  sho  does  needs  de 
money.  I'm  goin'  do  exackly  dass  de  way  you  say. 
Dat  man  he  ain'  goin'  know  no  diffunce  till  he  git 
out  —  an'  den,  honey,"  she  let  loose  upon  the 


98  IN  THE  ARENA 

quiet  air  a  sudden,  great  salvo  of  laughter,  "  dass 
let  him  fine  Lize  Mo'ton!" 

Bertha  went  to  live  in  the  tiny  room  with  the 
canary  bird  and  the  engraving  of  the  "Rock  of 
Ages."  This  was  putting  lime  to  the  canker,  but, 
somehow,  she  felt  that  she  could  go  to  no  other 
place.  She  told  the  landlady  that  her  young  man 
had  not  done  so  well  in  business  as  they  had 
expected,  and  had  sought  work  in  another  city. 
He  would  come  back,  she  said. 

She  woke  from  troubled  dreams  each  morn- 
ing to  stifle  her  sobbing  in  the  pillow.  "Ach, 
Toby,  coultn't  you  sented  me  yoost  one  word, 
you  might  sented  me  yoost  one  word,  yoost  one, 
to  tell  me  what  has  happened  mit  you!  Ach, 
Toby,  Toby!" 

The  canary  sang  happily;  she  loved  it  and 
tended  it,  and  the  gay  little  prisoner  tried  to  re- 
ward her  by  the  most  marvellous  trilling  in  his 
power,  but  her  heart  was  the  sorer  for  every  song. 

After  a  time  she  went  back  drearily  to  the 
kraut-smelling  restaurant,  to  the  work  she  had 


THE  ALIENS  80 

thought  to  leave  forever,  that  day  when  Toby  had 
not  come  for  her.  She  went  out  twenty  times 
every  morning,  and  oftener  as  it  wore  on  to- 
wards evening,  to  look  at  his  closed  stand,  always 
with  a  choking  hope  in  her  heart,  always  to  drag 
leaden  feet  back  into  the  restaurant.  Several 
times,  her  breath  failing  for  shame,  she  ap- 
proached Italians  in  the  street,  or  where  there 
was  one  to  be  found  at  a  stand  of  any  sort  she 
stopped  and  made  a  purchase,  and  asked  for 
some  word  of  Toby  —  without  result,  always. 
She  knew  no  other  way  to  seek  for  him. 

One  day,  as  she  trudged  homeward,  two  col- 
oured women  met  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  her, 
exchanged  greetings,  and  continued  for  a  little 
way  together. 

"  How  you  enjoyin'  you'  money,  dese  fine  days, 
Miz  Mo'ton  ?  "  inquired  one,  with  a  laugh  that  at- 
tested to  the  richness  of  the  joke  between  the  two. 

"Law,  honey,"  answered  the  other,  "dat  good 
luck  di'n'  las'  ve'y  long.  Dey  done  shut  off  my 
supplies." 

"No!" 


90  IN  THE  ARENA 

*Yas'm,  dey  sho  did.  Dat  man  done  tuck  de 
smallpox;  all  on  'em  ketched  it,  ev'y  las'  one, 
offn  dat  no  'count  Joe  Cribbins,  an'  now  dat 
dey  got  de  new  pes' -house  finish',  dey  haul  'em 
off  yon'eh,  yas'day.  Reckon  dat  ain'  make  no 
diffunce  in  my  urrant  runnin'.  Dat  Dago  man, 
he  outer  he  hade  two  day  f  o'  dey  haul  'em  away, 
an'  ain'  sen'  no  mo'  messages.  So  dat  spile  my 
job !  Hit  dass  my  luck.  Dey's  sho'  a  voodoo  on 
LizeMo'ton!" 

Bertha,  catching  but  fragments  of  this  con- 
versation, had  no  realization  that  it  bore  in  any 
way  upon  the  mystery  of  Toby;  and  she  stum- 
bled homeward  through  the  twilight  with  her 
tired  eyes  on  the  ground. 

When  she  opened  the  door  of  the  tiny  room, 
the  landlady's  lean  black  cat  ran  out  surrepti- 
tiously. The  bird-cage  lay  on  the  floor,  upside 
down,  and  of  its  jovial  little  inhabitant  the  tokens 
were  a  few  yellow  feathers. 

Bertha  did  not  know  until  a  month  after, 
when  Leo  Vesschi  found  her  at  the  restaurant 
and  told  her,  that  out  in  the  new  pest-house,  that 


THE  ALIENS  91 

other  songster  and  prisoner,  the  gay  little  chest- 
nut vender,  Pietro  Tobigli,  had  called  lamentably 
upon  the  name  of  his  God  and  upon  "  Libra  Ogos- 
tine,"  and  now  lay  still  forever,  with  the  cordu- 
roy waistcoat  and  its  precious  burden  tightly 
clenched  to  his  breast.  Even  in  his  delirium  they 
had  been  unable  to  coax  or  force  him  to  part 
from  it  for  a  second. 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY 


JTAR  back  in  his  corner  on  the  Democratic 
side  of  the  House,  Uncle  Billy  Rollinson  sat 
through  the  dragging  routine  of  the  legislative 
session,  wondering  what  most  of  it  meant.  When 
anybody  spoke  to  him,  in  passing,  he  would  an- 
swer, in  his  gentle,  timid  voice,  "Howdy-do, 
sir. "  Then  his  cheeks  would  grow  a  little  red  and 
he  would  stroke  his  long,  white  beard  elaborately, 
to  cover  his  embarrassment.  When  a  vote  was 
taken,  his  name  was  called  toward  the  last  of  the 
roll,  so  that  he  had  ample  time,  after  the  leader  of 
his  side  of  the  House,  young  Hurlbut,  had  voted, 
to  clear  his  throat  several  times  and  say  "Aye" 
or  "  No  "  in  quite  a  firm  voice.  But  the  instant  the 
word  had  left  his  lips  he  found  himself  terribly 
frightened,  and  stroked  his  beard  a  great  many 
times,  the  while  he  stared  seriously  up  at  the  ceil- 
ing, partly  to  avoid  meeting  anybody's  eye,  and 


96  IN  THE  ARENA 

partly  in  the  belief  that  it  concealed  his  agitation 
and  gave  him  the  air  of  knowing  what  he  waa 
about.  Usually  he  did  not  know,  any  more  than 
he  knew  how  he  had  happened  to  be  sent  to  the 
legislature  by  his  county.  Bat  he  liked  it.  He  liked 
the  feeling  of  being  a  person  to  be  considered ;  he 
liked  to  think  that  he  was  making  the  laws  of  his 
State.  He  liked  the  handsome  desk  and  the  easy 
leather  chair;  he  liked  the  row  of  fat,  expensive 
volumes,  the  unlimited  stationery,  and  the  free 
penknives  which  were  furnished  him.  He  enjoyed 
the  attentions  of  the  coloured  men  in  the  cloak- 
room, who  brushed  him  ostentatiously  and  al- 
ways called  him  (and  the  other  Representatives) 
"Senator,"  to  make  up  to  themselves  for  the  airs 
which  the  janitors  of  the  "Upper  House"  as- 
sumed. Most  of  these  things  surprised  him;  he 
had  not  expected  to  be  treated  with  such  liberal- 
ity by  the  State  and  never  realized  that  he  and  his 
colleagues  were  treating  themselves  to  all  these 
things  at  the  expense  of  the  people,  and  so,  al- 
though he  bore  off  as  much  note-paper  as  he 
could  carry,  now  and  then,  to  send  to  his  son. 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  97 

Henry,  he  was  horrified  and  dumbfounded  when 
the  bill  was  proposed  appropriating  $135,000  for 
the  expenses  of  the  seventy  days'  session  of  the 
legislature. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  among  his  "per- 
quisites" were  passes  (good  during  the  session) 
on  all  the  railroads  that  entered  the  State,  and 
others  for  use  on  many  inter-urban  trolley  lines. 
These,  he  thought,  might  be  gratifying  to  Henry, 
who  was  fond  of  travel,  and  had  often  been  un- 
happy when  his  father  failed  to  scrape  up  enough 
money  to  send  him  to  a  circus  in  the  next  county. 
It  was  "very  accommodating  of  the  railroads," 
Uncle  Billy  thought,  to  maintain  this  pleasant 
custom,  because  the  members'  travelling  expen- 
ses were  paid  by  the  State  just  the  same;  hence 
the  economical  could  "draw  their  mileage"  at  the 
Treasurer's  office,  and  add  it  to  their  salaries.  He 
heard  —  only  vaguely  understanding  —  many 
joking  references  to  other  ways  of  adding  to 
salaries. 

Most  of  the  members  of  his  party  had  taken 
rooms  at  one  of  the  hotels,  whither  those  who  had 


96  IN  THE  ARENA 

sought  cheaper  apartments  repaired  in  the  even- 
ing, when  the  place  became  a  noisy  and  crowded 
club,  admission  to  which  was  not  by  card.  Most 
of  the  rougher  man-to-man  lobbying  was  done 
here;  and  at  times  it  was  Babel. 

Through  the  crowds  Uncle  Billy  wandered 
shyly,  stroking  his  beard  and  saying,  "Howdy- 
do,  sir, "  in  his  gentle  voice,  getting  out  of  the  way 
of  people  who  hurried,  and  in  great  trouble  of 
mind  if  any  one  asked  him  how  he  intended  to 
vote  upon  a  bill.  When  this  happened  he  looked 
at  the  interrogator  in  the  plaintive  way  which  was 
his  habit,  and  answered  slowly:  "I  reckon  I'll 
have  to  think  it  over. "  He  was  not  in  Hurlbut's 
councils. 

There  was  much  bustle  all  about  him,  but  he 
was  not  part  of  it.  The  newspaper  reporters  re- 
marked the  quiet,  inoffensive  old  figure  pottering 
about  aimlessly  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  and 
thought  Uncle  Billy  as  lonely  as  a  man  might  well 
be,  for  he  seemed  less  a  part  of  the  political  ar- 
rangement than  any  member  they  had  ever  seen. 
He  would  have  looked  less  lonely  and  more  in 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  99 

place  trudging  alone  through  the  furrows  of  his 
home  fields  in  a  wintry  twilight. 

And  yet,  everybody  liked  the  old  man,  Hurlbut 
in  particular,  if  Uncle  Billy  had  known  it;  for 
Hurlbut  watched  the  votes  very  closely  and  was 
often  struck  by  the  soundness  of  Representative 
Rollinson's  intelligence  in  voting. 

In  return,  Uncle  Billy  liked  Hurlbut  better 
than  any  other  man  he  had  ever  known  —  except 
Henry,  of  course.  On  the  first  day  of  the  session, 
when  the  young  leader  had  been  pointed  out  to 
him,  Uncle  Billy's  humble  soul  was  prostrate  with 
admiration,  and  when  Hurlbut  led  the  first  attack 
on  the  monopolistic  tendencies  of  the  Republican 
party,  Representative  Rollinson,  chuckling  in  his 
beard  at  the  handsome  youth's  audacity,  himself 
dared  so  greatly  as  to  clap  his  hands  aloud.  Hurl- 
but,  on  the  floor,  was  always  a  storm  centre :  tall, 
dramatic,  bold,  the  members  put  down  their 
newspapers  whenever  his  strong  voice  was  heard 
demanding  recognition,  and  his  "Mr.  Speaker!" 
was  like  the  first  rumble  of  thunder.  The  tempest 
nearly  always  followed,  and  there  were  times 


100  IN  THE  ARENA 

when  it  threatened  to  become  more  than  vocal; 
when,  all  order  lost,  nine-tenths  of  the  men  on  the 
other  side  of  the  House  were  on  their  feet  shout- 
ing jeers  and  denunciations,  and  the  orator  faced 
them,  out-thundering  them  all,  with  his  own  co- 
horts, flushed  and  cheering,  gathered  round  him. 
Then,  indeed,  Uncle  Billy  would  have  thought 
him  a  god,  if  he  had  known  what  a  god  was. 

Sometimes  Uncle  Billy  saw  him  in  the  hotel 
lobby,  but  he  seemed  always  to  be  making  for  the 
elevator  in  a  hurry,  with  half-a-dozen  people  try- 
ing to  detain  him,  or  descending  momentarily 
from  the  stairway  for  a  quick,  sharp  talk  with  one 
or  two  members,  their  heads  close  together,  after 
which  Hurlbut  would  dart  upward  again. 

Sometimes  the  old  man  sat  down  at  one  of  the 
writing  tables,  in  a  corner  of  the  lobby,  and,  an- 
nexing a  sheet  of  the  hotel  note-paper,  "wrote 
home"  to  Henry.  He  sat  with  his  head  bent  far 
over,  the  broad  brim  of  his  felt  hat  now  and  then 
touching  the  hand  with  which  he  kept  the  paper 
from  sliding;  and  he  pressed  diligently  upon  his 
pen,  usually  breaking  it  before  the  letter  was  fin- 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  101 

ished.  He  looked  so  like  a  man  intent  upon  con- 
cealment that  the  reporters  were  wont  to  say: 
"There's  Uncle  Billy  humped  up  over  his  guilty 
secret  again." 

The  secret  usually  took  this  form: 

"Dear  Son  Henry: 

"  I  would  be  glad  if  you  was  here.  There  is  big  doings. 
Hurlbut  give  it  to  them  to-day.  He  don't  give  the  Re- 
publicans no  rest,  he  lights  into  them  like  sixty  you  would 
like  to  see  him.  They  are  plenty  nice  fellows  in  the  Repub- 
licans too  but  they  lay  mighty  low  when  Hurlbut  gets  after 
them.  He  was  just  in  the  office  but  went  out.  He  always 
has  a  segar  in  his  mouth  but  not  lit.  I  expect  hes  quit.  I  send 
you  enclosed  last  week's  salary  all  but  $11.80  which  I  had 
to  use  as  living  is  pretty  high  in  our  capital  city  of  the  state. 
If  you  would  like  some  of  this  hotel  writing  paper  better 
than  the  kind  I  sent  you  of  t1  j  General  Assembly  I  can  send 
you  some  the  boys  say  it  is  free.  I  think  it  is  all  right  you 
sold  the  calf  but  Wilkes  didn't  give  you  good  price.  Hurlbut 
come  in  while  I  was  writing  then.  You  bet  he  can  always 
count  on  Wm.  Rollinson's  vote. 

"  Well  I  must  draw  to  a  close,     Yours  truly 

"Your  father." 


102  IN  THE  ARENA 

:<Wm.  Rollinson  "  was  not  aware  that  he  was 
known  to  his  colleagues  and  the  lobby  and  the 
Press  as  "Uncle  Billy"  until  informed  thereof  by 
a  public  print.  He  stood,  one  night,  on  the  edge 
of  a  laughing  group,  when  a  reporter  turned  to 
him  and  said: 

"The  Constellation  would  like  to  know  Repre- 
sentative Rollinson's  opinion  of  the  scandalous 
story  that  has  just  been  told." 

The  old  man,  who  had  not  in  the  least  under- 
stood the  story,  summoned  all  his  faculties,  and, 
after  long  deliberation,  bent  his  plaintive  eyes  up- 
on the  youth  and  replied : 

"Well,  sir,  it's  a-stonishing,  a-stonishing!" 

"Think  it's  pretty  bad,  do  you  ?" 

Some  of  the  crowd  turned  to  listen,  and  the  old 
fellow,  hopelessly  puzzled,  stroked  his  beard  with 
a  trembling  hand,  and  then,  muttering,  "Well, 
young  man,  I  expect  you  better  excuse  me," 
hurried  away  and  left  the  place.  The  next  morn- 
ing he  found  the  following  item  tacked  to  the  tail 
of  the  "Legislative  Gossip"  column  of  the  Con- 
stellation: 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  103 


"Yesterday  a  curious  and  amusing  story  was  current 
among  the  solons  at  the  Nagmore  Hotel.  It  seems  that 
the  wife  of  a  country  member  of  the  last  legislature  had  been 
spending  the  day  at  the  hotel  and  the  wife  of  a  present  mem- 
ber from  the  country  complained  to  her  of  the  greatly  in- 
creased expenditure  appertaining  to  the  cost  of  living  in  the 
Capital  City.  'Indeed,'  replied  the  wife  of  the  former 
member,  '  that  is  curious.  But  I  suppose  my  husband  is 
much  more  economical  than  yours,  for  he  brought  home 
$1.500,  that  he'd  saved  out  of  his  salary. '  As  the  salary  is 
only  $456,  and  the  gentleman  in  question  did  not  play 
poker,  much  hilarity  was  indulged  in,  and  there  were  con- 
jectures that  the  economy  referred  to  concerned  his  vote 
upon  a  certain  bill  before  the  last  session,  anent  which  the 
lobby  pushing  it  were  far  from  economical.  Uncle  Billy 
Rollinson,the  Gentleman  fromWixinockee,  heard  the  story, 
as  it  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  but  he  had  no  laughter 
to  greet  it.  Uncle  Billy,  as  every  one  who  comes  in  contact 
with  him  knows,  is  as  honest  as  the  day  is  long,  and  the 
story  grieved  and  shocked  him.  He  expressed  the  utmost 
horror  and  consternation,  and  requested  to  be  excused 
from  speaking  further  upon  a  subject  so  repugnant  to  his 


104  IN  THE  ARENA 

feelings.  If  there  were  more  men  of  this  stamp  in  politics, 
who  find  corruption  revolting  instead  of  amusing,   our 

legislatures  would  enjoys  better  fame." 
/ 

Uncle  Billy  had  always  been  agitated  by  the 
sight  of  his  name  in  print.  Even  in  the  Wixinoc- 
kee  County  Clarion,  it  dumbfounded  him  and 
gave  him  a  strange  feeling  that  it  must  mean 
somebody  else,  but  this  sudden  blaze  of  metropol- 
itan fame  made  him  almost  giddy.  He  folded  the 
paper  quickly  and  placed  it  under  his  coat,  feel- 
ing vaguely  that  it  would  not  do  to  be  seen  reading 
it.  He  murmured  feeble  answers  during  the  day, 
when  some  of  his  colleagues  referred  to  it;  but 
when  he  reached  his  own  little  room  that  evening, 
he  spread  it  out  under  his  oil-smelling  lamp  and 
read  it  again.  Perhaps  he  read  it  twenty  times 
over  before  the  supper  bell  rang.  Perhaps  the  fact 
that  he  was  still  intent  upon  it  accounted  for  his 
not  hearing  the  bell,  so  that  his  landlady  had  to 
call  him. 

What  he  liked  was  the  phrase:  "Honest  as  the 
day  is  long. "  He  did  not  go  to  the  hotel  that  night. 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  105 

He  went  back  to  his  room  and  read  the  Constella- 
tion. He  liked  the  Constellation.  Newspapers  were 
very  kind,  he  thought.  Now  and  then,  he  would 
pick  up  his  pile  of  legislative  bills  and  try  to  spell 
through  the  ponderous  sentences,  but  he  always 
gave  it  up  and  went  back  to  the  Constellation.  He 
wondered  if  Hurlbut  had  read  it.  Hurlbut  had. 
The  leader  had  even  told  the  author  of  the  item 
that  he  was  glad  somebody  could  appreciate  the 
kind  of  a  man  Uncle  Billy  was,  and  his  value  to 
the  body  politic. 

"Honest  as  the  day  is  long,"  Uncle  Billy  re- 
peated to  himself,  in  the  little  room,  nodding  his 
head  gravely.  Then  he  thought  for  a  long  while 
about  the  member  who  had,  according  to  the 
story,  gone  home  with  $1,500.  He  sat  up,  that 
evening,  until  almost  ten  o'clock.  Even  after  he 
had  gone  to  bed,  he  lay  awake  with  his  eyes  wide 
open  in  the  darkness,  thinking  of  the  colossal 
sum.  If  anybody  should  come  to  him  and  offer 
him  all  that  money  to  vote  a  certain  way  upon  a 
bill,  he  believed  he  would  not  take  it,  for  that 
would  be  bribery;  though  Henry  would  be 


106  IN  THE  ARENA 

glad  to  have  the  money.  Henry  always  needed 
money;  sometimes  the  need  was  imperative  — 
once,  indeed,  so  imperative  that  the  small,  un- 
fertile farm  had  been  mortgaged  beyond  its  value, 
otherwise  very  serious  things  must  have  happen- 
ed to  Henry.  Uncle  Billy  wondered  how  offers 
of  money  to  members  were  refused  without  hurt- 
ing the  intending  donor's  feelings.  And  what  a 
great  deal  could  be  done  with  $1,500,  if  a  member 
could  get  it  and  still  be  as  honest  as  the  day  is 
long! 

About  the  second  month  of  the  session.the  floor 
of  the  House  began  steadily  to  grow  more  and 
more  tumultuous.  To  an  unpolitical  onlooker, 
leaning  over  the  gallery  rail,  it  was  often  an  in- 
comprehensible Bedlam,  or  perhaps  one  might 
have  been  reminded  of  an  ant-heap  by  the  hurry- 
and-scurry  and  life-and-death  haste  in  a  hundred 
directions  at  once,  quite  without  any  distinguish* 
able  purpose.  Twenty  men  might  be  rampaging 
up  and  down  the  aisles,  all  shouting,  some  of 
them  furiously,  others  with  a  determination  that 
was  deadly,  all  with  arms  waving  at  the  Speaker- 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  lOf 

some  of  the  hands  clenched,  some  of  them  flut- 
tering documents,  while  pages  ran  everywhere  in 
mad  haste,  stumbling  and  falling  in  the  aisles.  In 
the  midst  of  this,  other  members,  seated,  wrote 
studiously;  others  mildly  read  newspapers;  others 
lounged,  half-standing  against  their  desks,  un- 
lighted  cigars  in  their  mouths,  laughing;  all  the 
while  the  patient  Speaker  tapped  with  his  gavel  on 
a  small  square  of  marble.  Suddenly  perfect  calm 
would  come  and  the  voice  of  the  reading-clerk 
drone  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  like  a  single  bee 
in  a  country  garden  on  Sunday  morning. 

Of  all  this  Uncle  Billy  was  as  much  a  layman 
spectator  as  any  tramp  who  crept  into  the  gallery 
for  a  few  hours  out  of  the  cold.  The  hurry  and 
seethe  of  the  racing  sea  touched  him  not  at  all, 
except  to  bewilderment,  while  he  was  carried  with 
it,  unknowing,  toward  the  breakers.  The  shout  of 
those  breakers  was  already  in  the  ears  of  many, 
for  the  crisis  of  the  session  was  coming.  This  was 
the  fight  that  was  to  be  made  on  Hurlbut's 
"Railroad  Bill,"  which  was,  indeed,  but  in  an- 
other sense,  known  as  the  "Breaker." 


108  IN  THE  ARENA 

Uncle  Billy  had  heard  of  the  "Breaker."  He 
couldn't  have  helped  that.  He  had  heard  a  dozen 
say:  "Then's  when  it's  going  to  be  warm  times, 
when  that  'Breaker'  comes  up!"  or,  "Look  out 
for  that  'Breaker.'  We're  going  to  have  big 
trouble."  He  knew,  too,  that  Hurlbut  was  in- 
terested in  the  "Breaker,"  but  upon  which  side 
he  was  for  a  long  time  ignorant. 

Hurlbut  always  nodded  to  the  old  man,  now,  as 
he  came  down  the  aisle  to  his  own  desk.  He  had 
begun  that,  the  day  after  the  Constellation  item. 
Uncle  Billy  never  failed  to  be  in  his  seat  early  in 
the  morning,  waiting  for  the  nod.  He  answered  it 
with  his  usual  "  Howdy-do,  sir, "  then  stroked  his 
beard  and  gazed  profoundly  at  the  row  of  fat  vol- 
umes in  front  of  him,  swallowing  painfully  once 
or  twice. 

This  was  all  that  really  happened  for  Uncle 
Billy  during  the  turmoil  and  scramble  that  went 
on  about  him  all  the  day  long.  He  had  not  been 
forced  to  discover  a  way  to  meet  an  offer  of 
$1,500,  without  hurting  the  putative  giver's  feel- 
ings. No  lobbyist  had  the  faintest  idea  of  "  ap- 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  109 

preaching"  the  old  man  in  that  way.  The  mem- 
bers and  the  hordes  of  camp-followers  and  all  the 
lobby  had  settled  into  a  belief  that  Representa- 
tive Rollinson  was  a  sea-green  Incorruptible,  that 
of  all  honest  members  he  was  the  most  honest. 
He  had  become  typical  of  honesty:  sayings  were 
current  —  "  You  might  as  well  try  to  bribe  Uncle 
Billy  Rollinson!"  "As  honest  as  old  Uncle  Billy 
Rollinson. "  Hurlbut  often  used  such  phrases  in 
private. 

The  "Breaker"  was  Hurlbut's  own  bill;  he 
had  planned  it  and  written  it,  though  it  came  over 
to  the  House  from  the  Senate  under  a  Senator's 
name.  It  was  one  of  those  "anti-monopolistic" 
measures  which  Democrats  put  their  whole  hearts 
into,  sometimes,  and  believe  in  and  fight  for  mag- 
nificently; an  idea  conceived  in  honesty  and  for  a 
beneficent  purpose,  in  the  belief  that  a  legislature 
by  the  wave  of  a  hand  can  conjure  the  millennium 
to  appear;  and  born  out  of  an  utter  misconcep- 
tion of  man  and  railroads.  The  bill  needs  no  far- 
ther description  than  this:  if  it  passed  and  be- 
came an  enforced  law,  the  dividends  of  every  j  ail 


110  IN  THE  ARENA 

road  entering  the  State  would  be  reduced  by  two- 
fifths.  There  is  one  thing  that  will  fight  harder 
than  a  Democrat  -  -  that  is  a  railroad. 

The  "Breaker"  had  been  kept  very  dark  until 
Hurlbut  felt  that  he  was  ready;  then  it  was  swept 
through  the  Senate  before  the  railroad  lobby, 
previously  lulled  into  unsuspicion,  could  collect 
itself  and  block  it.  This  was  as  Hurlbut  had  plan- 
ned :  that  the  fight  should  be  in  his  own  House.  It 
was  the  bill  of  his  heart  and  he  set  his  reputation 
upon  it.  He  needed  fifty-one  votes  to  pass  it,  and 
he  had  them,  and  one  to  spare;  for  he  took  his 
followers,  who  formed  the  majority,  into  caucu;; 
upon  it.  It  was  in  the  caucus  Uncle  Billy  learned 
that  Hurlbut  was  "for"  the  bill.  He  watched  the 
leader  with  humble,  wavering  eyes,  thinking  how 
strong  and  clear  his  voice  was,  and  wondering  if 
he  never  lit  the  cigar  he  always  carried  in  his 
hand,  or  if  he  ever  got  into  trouble,  like  Henry, 
being  a  young  man.  If  he  did,  Uncle  Billy  would 
have  liked  the  chance  to  help  him  out. 

He  had  plenty  of  such  chances  with  Henry;  m« 
deed,  the  opportunity  may  be  said  to  have  become 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  111 

unintermittent,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  never  free 
from  a  dim  fear  of  the  day  when  his  son  would  get 
in  so  deeply  that  he  could  not  get  him  out.  Verily, 
the  day  seemed  near  at  hand :  Henry's  letters  were 
growing  desperate  and  the  old  man  walked  the 
floor  of  his  little  room  at  night,  more  and  more 
hopeless.  Once  or  twice,  even  as  he  sat  at  his  desk 
in  the  House,  his  eyes  became  so  watery  that  he 
forced  himself  into  long  spells  of  coughing,  to  ac- 
count for  it,  in  case  any  one  might  be  noticing  him. 

The  caucus  was  uneventful  and  quiet,  for  it 
had  all  been  talked  over,  and  was  no  more  than  a 
matter  of  form. 

The  Republicans  did  not  caucus  upon  the  bill 
(they  had  reasons),  but  they  were  solidly  against 
it.  Naturally  it  follows  that  the  assault  of  the  rail- 
road lobby  had  to  be  made  upon  the  virtue  of  the 
Democrats  as  Democrats.  That  is,  whether  a 
member  upon  the  majority  side  cared  about  the 
bill  for  its  own  sake  or  not,  right  or  wrong,  he  felt 
it  his  duty  as  a  Democrat  to  vote  for  it.  If  he  had 
a  conscience  higher  than  a  political  conscience, 
and  believed  the  bill  was  bad,  his  duty  was  to 


112  IN  THE  ARENA 

"bolt  the  caucus";  but  all  of  the  Democratic  side 
believed  in  the  righteousness  of  the  bill,  except 
two.  One  had  already  been  bought  and  the  other 
was  Uncle  Billy,  who  knew  nothing  about  it,  ex- 
cept that  Hurlbut  was  "for"  it  and  it  seemed  to 
be  making  a  "  big  stir. " 

The  man  who  had  been  bought  sat  not  far  from 
Uncle  Billy.  He  was  a  furtive,  untidy  slouch  of  a 
man,  formerly  a  Republican;  he  had  a  great  ca- 
pacity for  "handling  the  coloured  vote"  and  his 
name  was  Pixley.  Hurlbut  mistrusted  him;  the 
young  man  had  that  instinct,  which  good  leaders 
need,  for  feeling  the  weak  places  in  his  following; 
and  he  had  the  leader's  way,  too,  of  ever  bracing 
up  the  weakness  and  fortifying  it;  so  he  stopped, 
four  or  five  times  a  day,  at  Pixley's  desk,  urging 
the  necessity  of  standing  fast  for  the  "  Breaker,  '* 
and  expressing  convictions  as  to  the  political  fu- 
ture of  a  Democrat  who  should  fail  to  vote  for  it; 
to  which  Pixley  assented  in  his  husky,  tough-ward 
voice. 

All  day  long  now,  Hurlbut  and  his  lieutenants, 
disregarding  the  routine  of  bills,  went  up  and 


THE  KEED  OF  MONEY  113 

clown  the  lines,  fending  off  the  lobbyists  and  such 
Republicans  as  were  working  openly  for  the  bill. 
They  encouraged  and  threatened  and  never  let 
themselves  be  too  confident  of  their  seeming 
strength.  Some  of  those  who  were  known,  or 
guessed,  to  be  of  the  "  weaker  brethren"  were  not 
left  to  themselves  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  from 
their  breakfasts  until  they  went  to  bed.  There  was 
always  at  elbow  the  "Hold  fast!"  whisper  of 
Hurlbut  and  his  lieutenants.  None  of  them  ever 
thought  of  speaking  to  Uncle  Billy. 

Hurlbut's  "  work  was  cut  out  for  him, "  as  they 
said.  What  work  it  is  to  keep  every  one  of  fifty 
men  honest  under  great  temptation  for  three 
weeks  (which  time  it  took  for  the  hampered  and 
filibustered  bill  to  come  up  for  its  passage  or  de- 
feat), is  known  to  those  who  have  tried  to  do  it. 
The  railroads  were  outraged  and  incensed  by 
the  measure ;  they  sincerely  believed  it  to  be  mon- 
strous and  thievish.  "Let  the  legislature  try  to 
confiscate  twc -fifths  of  the  lawyers',  or  the 
bakers',  or  the  ironmoulders',  just  earnings," 
said  they,  "and  see  what  will  happen!" 


114  IN  THE  ARENA 

When  such  a  bill  as  this  comes  to  the  floor  for 
the  third  time  the  fight  is  already  over,  oratory  is 
futile;  and  Cicero  could  not  budge  a  vote.  The 
railroads  were  forced  to  fight  as  best  they  could ; 
this  was  the  old  way  that  they  have  learned  is 
most  effective  in  such  a  case.  Votes  could  not  be 
had  to  "oblige  a  friend"  on  the  "Breaker"  bill; 
nor  could  they  be  procured  by  arguments  to 
prove  the  bill  unjust.  In  brief :  the  railroad  lobby 
had  no  need  to  buy  Republican  votes  (with  the 
exception  of  the  one  or  two  who  charged  out  of 
habit  whenever  legislation  concerned  corpora- 
tions), for  the  Republicans  were  against  the  bill, 
but  they  did  mortally  need  to  buy  two  Demo- 
cratic votes,  and  were  willing  to  pay  handsomely 
for  them.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Pixley's  price  was 
not  exorbitant,  considering  the  situation;  nor 
need  he  have  congratulated  himself  so  heartily 
as  he  did  (in  moments  of  retirement  from  public 
life)  upon  his  prospective  $£,000  (when  the 
goods  should  be  delivered)  since  his  vote  was  as- 
sisting the  railroads  to  save  many  million  dollar* 
a  year. 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  115 

Of  course  the  lobby  attacked  the  bill  noisily; 
there  were  big  guns  going  all  day  long;  but  those 
in  charge  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  noise  ac- 
complished nothing  in  itself.  It  was  used  to  cover 
the  whispering.  Still,  Hurlbut  held  his  line  firm 
and  the  bill  passed  its  second  reading  with  fifty- 
two  votes,  Mr.  Pixley  being  directed  by  his  own- 
ers to  vote  for  it  on  that  occasion. 

As  time  went  on  the  lobby  began  to  grow  des- 
perate; even  Pixley  had  been  consulted  upon  his 
opinion  by  Barrett,  the  young  lawyer  through 
whom  negotiations  in  his  case  had  been  con- 
ducted. Pixley  suggested  the  name  of  Rollin- 
son  and  Barrett  dismissed  this  counsel  with  as 
much  disgust  for  Pixley's  stupidity  as  he  had  for 
the  man's  person.  (One  likes  a  dog  when  he 
buys  him.) 

"But  why  not  ?  "  Pixley  had  whined  as  he  reach- 
ed the  door.  "  Uncle  Billy  ain't  so  much !  You 
listen  to  me.  He  wouldn't  take  it  out-an'-out  - 
I  don't  say  as  he  would.  But  you  needn't  work 
that  way.  Everybody  thinks  it's  no  use  to  tackle 
him  --  but  nobody  never  tried  !  What's  h~  done 


116  IN  THE  ARENA 

to  make  you  scared  of  him  ?    Nothing  !    Jest  set 
there  and  looked!" 

After  he  had  gone  the  fellow's  words  came 
back  to  Barrett:  "Nobody  never  tried!"  And 
then,  to  satisfy  his  conscience  that  he  was  leaving 
no  stone  unturned,  yet  laughing  at  the  useless- 
ness  of  it,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  a  confidant  of  his, 
formerly  a  colleague  in  the  lobby,  who  lived  in 
the  county-seat  near  which  Uncle  Billy's  mort- 
gaged acres  lay.  The  answer  came  the  night 
after  the  second  vote  on  the  "Breaker." 

"Dear  Barrett: 

"  I  agree  with  your  grafter.  I  don't  believe  Rollinson  would 
be  hard  to  approach  if  it  were  done  with  tact  —  of  course 
you  don't  want  to  tackle  him  the  way  you  would  a  swine 
like  Pixley.  A  good  many  people  around  here  always 
thought  the  old  man  simple-minded.  He  was  given  the 
nomination  almost  in  joke  —  nobody  else  wanted  it,  be- 
cause they  all  thought  the  Republicans  had  a  sure  thing  of 
it;  but  Rollinson  slid  in  on  the  general  Democratic  landslide 
in  this  district.  He's  got  one  son,  a  worthless  pup,  Henry,  a 
sort  of  yokel  Don  Juan,  always  half  drunk  when  his  father 
lias  any  money  to  give  him,  and  just  smart  enough  to  keep 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  117 

the  old  man  mesmerized.  Lately  Henry's  been  in  a  mighty 
serious  peck  of  trouble.  Last  fall  he  got  married  to  a  girl 
here  in  town.  Three  weeks  ago  a  family  named  Johnson, 
the  most  shiftless  in  the  county,  the  real  low-down  white 
trash  sort,  living  on  a  truck  patch  out  Rollinson's  way, 
heard  that  Henry  was  on  a  toot  in  town,  spending  money 
freely,  and  they  went  after  him.  A  client  of  mine  rents  their 
ground  to  them  and  told  me  all  about  it.  It  seems  they 
claim  that  one  of  the  daughters  in  the  Johnson  family  was 
Henry's  common-law  wife  before  he  married  the  other  girl, 
and  it's  more  than  likely  they  can  prove  it.  They  are  holler- 
ing for  $600,  and  if  Henry  doesn't  raise  it  mighty  quick  they 
swear  they'll  get  him  sent  over  the  road  for  bigamy.  I  think 
the  old  man  would  sell  his  soul  to  keep  his  boy  out  of  the 
penitentiary  and  he's  at  his  wits'  ends ;  he  hasn't  anything 
to  raise  the  money  on  and  he's  up  against  it.  He'll  do  any 
thing  on  earth  for  Henry.  Hope  this'll  be  of  some  service  to 
you,  and  if  there's  anything  more  I  can  do  about  it  you  bet- 
ter call  me  up  on  the  long  distance. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"J.  P.  WATSON. 

"  P.  S.  — You  might  mention  to  our  old  boss  that  I  don't 
want  anything  if  services  are  needed ;  but  a  pass  for  self  and 
family  to  New  York  and  return  would  come  in  handy." 


118  IN  THE  ARENA 

Barrett  telegraphed  an  answer  at  once:  "If  it 
goes  you  can  have  annual  for  yourself  and  fami- 
ly. Will  call  you  up  at  two  sharp  to-morrow." 

It  was  late  the  following  night  when  the  lobby- 
ist concluded  his  interview  with  Representative 
Rollinson,  in  the  latter's  little  room,  half  lighted 
by  the  oil-smelling  lamp. 

"I  knew  you  would  understand,  Mr.  Rollin- 
son," said  Barrett  as  he  rose  to  go.  His  eyes 
danced  and  his  jaws  set  with  the  thought  that  had 
been  jubilant  within  him  for  the  last  half-hour: 
"We've  got  'em!  We've  got  'em!  We've  got 
'em!"  The  railroads  had  defended  their  own 
again. 

"Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "we  wouldn't  have 
dreamed  of  coming  to  you  and  asking  you  to  vote 
against  this  outrageous  bill  if  we  thought  for  a 
minute  that  you  had  any  real  belief  in  it  or  con- 
sidered it  a  good  bill.  But  you  say,  yourself, 
your  only  feeling  about  it  was  to  oblige  Mr.  Hurl- 
but,  and  you  admit,  too,  that  you've  voted  his  way 
on  every  other  bill  of  the  session.  Surely,  as  I've 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  119 

already  said  so  many  times,  you  don't  think  he'd 
be  so  unreasonable  as  to  be  angry  with  you  for 
differing  with  him  on  the  merits  of  only  one !  No, 
no,  Hurlbut's  a  very  sensible  fellow  about  such 
matters.  You  don't  need  to  worry  about  that! 
After  all  I've  said,  surely  you  won't  give  it  another 
thought,  will  you  ?" 

Uncle  Billy  sat  in  the  shadow,  bent  far  over, 
slowly  twisting  his  thin,  corded  hands,  the  fingers 
tightly  interlocked.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he 
spoke,  and  his  interlocutor  had  to  urge  him  again 
before  he  answered,  in  his  gentle,  quavering 
voice. 

"  No,  I  reckon  not,  if  you  say  so. " 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Barrett  briskly.  "Why 
of  course,  we'd  never  have  thought  of  making  you 
a  money  offer  to  vote  either  for  or  against  your 
principles.  Not  much!  We  don't  do  business 
that  way!  We  simply  want  to  do  something  for 
you.  We've  wanted  to,  all  during  the  session, 
but  the  opportunity  hadn't  offered  until  I  happen- 
ed to  hear  your  son  was  in  trouble. " 

Out  of  the  shadow  came  a  long,  tremulous 


120  IN  THE  ARENA 

sigh.  There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  Uncle 
Billy's  head  sank  slowly  lower  and  rested  on  his 
hands. 

"You  see,"  the  other  continued  cheerfully, 
"we  make  no  conditions,  none  in  the  world.  We 
feel  friendly  to  you  and  want  to  oblige  you,  but  of 
course  we  do  think  you  ought  to  show  a  little 
good-will  towards  us.  I  believe  it's  all  under- 
stood: to-morrow  night  Mr.  Watson  will  drive 
out  in  his  buggy  to  this  Johnson  place,  and  he's 
empowered  by  us  to  settle  the  whole  business  and 
obtain  a  written  statement  from  the  family  that 
they  have  no  claim  on  your  son.  How  he  will 
settle  it  is  neither  your  affair  nor  mine;  nor 
whether  it  costs  money  or  not.  But  he  will 
settle  it.  We  do  that  out  of  good-will  to  you,  as 
long  as  we  feel  as  friendly  to  you  as  we  do  now, 
and  all  we  ask  is  that  you  show  your  good- will  to 


us.' 


It  was  plain,  even  to  Uncle  Billy,  that  if  he  voted 
against  Mr.  Barrett's  friends  in  the  afternoon 
those  friends  might  not  feel  so  much  good-will 
toward  him  in  the  evening  as  they  did  now;  and 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  121 

Mr.  Watson  might  not  go  to  the  trouble  of 
hitching  up  his  buggy  to  drive  out  to  the 
Johnsons'. 

"You  see,  it's  all  out  of  friendship,"  said  Bar- 
rett, his  hand  on  the  door  knob.  "And  we  can 
count  on  your's  to-morrow,  can't  we  —  abso- 
lutely?" 

The  grey  head  sank  a  little  lower,  and  then 
after  a  moment  the  quavering  voice  answered: 

"Yes,  sir  —  I'll  be  friendly. " 

Before  morning,  Hurlbut  lost  another  vote. 
One  of  his  best  men  left  on  a  night  train  for  the 
bedside  of  his  dying  wife.  This  meant  that  the 
"Breaker"  needed  every  one  of  the  fifty-one  re- 
maining Democratic  votes  in  order  to  pass.  Hurl- 
but  more  than  distrusted  Pixley,  yet  he  felt  sure 
of  the  other  fifty,  and  if,  upon  the  reading  of  the 
bill,  Pixley  proved  false,  the  bill  would  not  be  lost, 
since  there  would  be  a  majority  of  votes  in  its 
favour,  though  not  the  constitutional  majority  of 
fifty-one  required  for  its  passage,  and  it  could  be 
brought  up  again  and  carried  when  the  absent 
man  returned.  Thus,  on  the  chance  that  Pixley 


122  IN  THE  ARENA 

had  withstood  tampering,  Hurlbut  made  no  ef- 
fort to  prevent  the  bill  from  coming  to  the  floor  in 
its  regular  order  in  the  afternoon,  feeling  that  it 
could  not  possibly  be  killed  by  a  majority  against 
it,  for  he  trusted  his  fifty,  now,  as  strongly  as  he 
distrusted  Pixley. 

And  so  the  roll-call  on  the  "Breaker"  began, 
rather  quietly,  though  there  was  no  man's  face  in 
the  hall  that  was  not  set  to  show  the  tensity  of 
high-strung  nerves.  The  great  crowd  that  had 
gathered  and  choked  the  galleries  and  the  floor 
beyond  the  bar,  and  the  Senators  who  had  left 
their  own  chamber  to  watch  the  bill  in  the  House^ 
all  began  to  feel  disappointed;  for  nothing  hap* 
pened  until  Pixley's  name  was  called. 

Pixley  voted  "No!" 

Uncle  Billy,  sitting  far  down  in  his  leather 
chair  on  the  small  of  his  back,  heard  the  outburst 
of  shouting  that  followed;  but  he  could  not  see 
Pixley,  for  the  traitor  was  instantly  surrounded 
by  a  ring  of  men,  and  all  that  was  visible  from 
where  he  sat  was  their  backs  and  upraised,  ges- 
ticulating hands.  Uncle  Billy  began  to  tremble 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  128 

violently;  he  had  not  calculated  on  this;  but 
surely  such  things  would  not  happen  to  him  ! 

The  Speaker's  gavel  clicked  through  the  up- 
roar and  the  roll-call  proceeded. 

The  clerk  reached  the  name  of  Rollinson. 
Uncle  Billy  swallowed,  threw  a  pale  look  about 
him  and  wrapped  his  damp  hands  in  the  skirts  of 
his  shiny  old  coat,  as  if  to  warm  them.  For  a 
moment  he  could  not  answer.  People  turned  to 
look  at  him. 

"Rollinson!"  shouted  the  clerk  again. 

"No,  "said  Uncle  Billy. 

Immediately  he  saw  above  him  and  all  about 
him  a  blur  of  men's  faces  and  figures  risen  to  their 
feet,  he  heard  a  hundred  voices  say  breathlessly : 
"  What  /"  and  one  that  said :  "  My  God,  that  kills 
the  bill!" 

Then  a  horrible  and  incredible  storm  burst 
upon  him,  and  he  who  had  sat  all  the  session 
shrinking  unnoticed  in  his  quiet,  back  seat,  un- 
nerved when  a  colleague  asked  the  simplest  ques- 
tion, found  himself  the  centre  and  point  of  at- 
tack in  the  wildest  m£lee  that  legislature  ever  saw. 


124  IN  THE  ARENA 

A  dozen  men,  red,  frantic,  with  upraised  arms, 
came  at  him,  Hurlbut  the  first  of  them.  But  the 
lobby  was  there,  too;  for  it  was  not  part  of  its  cal- 
culations that  the  old  man  should  be  frightened 
into  changing  his  vote. 

There  need  have  been  no  fear  of  that.  Uncle 
Billy  was  beyond  the  power  of  speech.  The  lob- 
by's agents  swarmed  on  the  floor,  and,  with  half- 
a-dozen  hysterically  laughing  Republicans,  met 
the  onset  of  Hurlbut  and  his  men.  It  became  a 
riot  immediately.  Sane  men  were  swept  up  in  it 
to  be  as  mad  as  the  rest,  while  the  galleries 
screamed  and  shouted.  All  round  the  old  man 
tLe  fury  was  greatest;  his  head  sank  over  his 
desk  and  rested  on  his  hands  as  it  had  the 
night  before ;  for  he  dared  not  lift  it  to  see  the  ava- 
lanche he  had  loosed  upon  himself.  He  would 
have  liked  to  stop  his  ears  to  shut  out  the  egre- 
gious clamour  of  cursing  and  yelling  that  beset 
him,  as  his  bent  head  kept  the  glazed  eyes  from 
seeing  the  impossible  vision  of  the  attack  that 
strove  to  reach  him.  He  remembered  awful  dreams 
that  were  like  this ;  and  now,  as  then,  he  shuddered 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  125 

in  a  cold  sweat,  being  as  one  who  would  draw  the 
covers  over  his  head  to  shelter  him  from  horrors 
in  great  darkness.  As  Uncle  Billy  felt,  so  might 
a  naked  soul  feel  at  the  judgment  day,  tossed 
alone  into  the  pit  with  all  the  myriads  of  eyes  in 
the  universe  fastened  on  its  sins. 

He  was  pressed  and  jostled  by  his  defenders; 
once  a  man's  shoulders  were  bent  back  down  over 
his  own  and  he  was  crushed  against  the  desk  until 
his  ribs  ached;  voices  thundered  and  wailed  at 
him,  threatening,  imploring,  cursing,  cajoling, 
raving. 

Smaller  groups  were  struggling  and  shouting 
in  every  part  of  the  room,  the  distracted  sergeants- 
at-arms  roaring  and  wrestling  with  the  rest.  On 
the  high  dais  the  Speaker,  white  but  imperturb- 
able, having  broken  his  gavel,  beat  steadily  with 
the  handle  of  an  umbrella  upon  the  square  of 
marble  on  his  desk.  Fifteen  or  twenty  members, 
raging  dementedly,  were  beneath  him,  about  the 
clerk's  desk  and  on  the  steps  leading  up  to  his 
chair,  each  howling  hoarsely: 

"  A  point  of  order!  A  point  of  or-der!" 


126  IN  THE  ARENA 

When  the  semblance  of  order  came  at  last,  the 
roll  was  finished,  "reconsidered,"  the  "Breaker" 
was  beaten,  50  to  49,  was  dead;  and  Uncle  Billy 
Rollinson  was  creeping  down  the  outer  steps  of 
the  Statehouse  in  the  cold  February  slush  and 
rain. 

He  was  glad  to  be  out  of  the  nightmare,  though 
it  seemed  still  upon  him,  the  horrible  clamours, 
all  gonging  and  blaring  at  him;  the  red,  madden- 
ed faces,  the  clenched  fists,  the  open  mouths,  all 
raging  at  him  —  all  the  ruck  and  uproar  swam 
about  the  dazed  old  man  as  he  made  his  slow,  un- 
seeing way  through  the  wet  streets. 

He  was  too  late  for  dinner  at  his  dingy  board- 
ing house,  having  wandered  far,  and  he  found 
himself  in  his  room  without  knowing  very  well 
how  he  had  come  there,  indeed,  scarcely  more 
than  half-conscious  that  he  was  there.  He  sat,  for 
a  long  time,  in  the  dark.  After  a  while  he  me- 
chanically lit  the  lamp,  sat  again  to  stare  at  it, 
then,  finding  his  eyes  watering,  he  turned  from  it 
with  an  incoherent  whimper,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
person  from  whom  he  would  conceal  the  fact  that 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  127 

he  was  weeping.  He  leaned  his  arm  against  the 
window  sill  and  dried  his  eyes  on  the  shiny  sleeve. 

An  hour  later,  there  came  a  hard,  imperative 
knock  on  the  door.  Uncle  Billy  raised  his  head  and 
said  gently: 

"Come  in." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  uncertain,  aghast,  when  he 
saw  who  his  visitor  was.  It  was  Hurlbut. 

The  young  man  confronted  him  darkly,  for  a 
moment,  in  silence.  He  was  dripping  with  rain; 
his  hat,  unremoved,  shaded  lank  black  locks  over 
a  white  face;  his  nostrils  were  wide  with  wrath; 
the  "dry  cigar"  wagged  between  gritting  teeth. 

"Will ye  take  a  chair?"  faltered  Uncle  Billy. 

The  room  rang  to  the  loud  answer  of  the  other: 
"I'd  see  you  in  Hell  before  I'd  sit  in  a  chair  of 
yours!" 

He  raised  an  arm,  straight  as  a  rod,  to  point  at 
the  old  man.  "Rollinson,"  he  said,  "I've  come 
here  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you !  I've  never 
done  that  in  my  life  before,  because  I  never 
thought  any  man  worth  it.  I  do  it  because  I  need 
the  luxury  of  it  —  because  I'm  sick  of  myself  not 


128  IN  THE  ARENA 

to  have  had  gumption  enough  to  see  what  you 
were  all  the  time  and  have  you  watched!" 

Uncle  Billy  was  stung  to  a  moment's  life. 
"Look  here, "  he  quavered,  "you  hadn't  ought  to 
talk  that  way  to  me.  There  ain't  a  cent  of  money 
passed  my  fingers  —  ' 

Hurlbut's  bitter  laugh  cut  him  short.  "  No  ? 
Don't  you  suppose  /  know  how  it  was  done  ?  Do 
you  suppose  there's  a  man  in  the  whole  Assembly 
doesn't  know  how  you  were  sold  ?  I  had  it  by  the 
long  distance  an  hour  ago,  from  your  own  home. 
Do  you  suppose  we  have  no  friends  there,  or  that 
it  was  hard  to  find  out  about  the  whole  dirty  busi- 
ness ?  Your  son's  not  going  to  stand  trial  for  big- 
amy;  that  was  the  price  you  charged  for  killing  the 
bill.  You  and  Pixley  are  the  only  men  whom  they 
could  buy  with  all  their  millions!  Oh,  I  know  a 
dozen  men  who  could  be  bought  on  other  issues, 
but  not  on  this!  You  and  Pixley  stand  alone.  Well, 
you've  broken  the  caucus  and  you've  betrayed  the 
Democratic  party.  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  the 
party  doesn't  want  you  any  more.  You  are  out  of 
it,  do  you  hear  ?  We  don't  want  even  to  use  you ! " 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  129 

The  old  man  had  sunk  back  into  his  chair, 
stricken  white,  his  hands  fluttering  helplessly. 
"I  didn't  go  to  hurt  your  feelings,  Mr.  Hurlbut," 
he  said.  "  I  never  knowed  how  it  would  be,  but  I 
don't  think  you  ought  to  say  I  done  anything 
dishonest.  I  just  felt  kind  of  friendly  to  the  rail- 
roads —  ' 

The  leader's  laugh  cut  him  off  again.  "Friend- 
ly! Yes,  that's  what  you  were!  Well,  you  can 
go  back  to  your  friends;  you'll  need  them!- 
Mother  in  Heaven!  How  you  fooled  us!  We 
thought  you  were  the  straightest  man  and  the 
staunchest  Democrat  - 

"  I  b'en  a  Democrat  all  my  life,  Mr.  Hurlbut.  I 
voted  f  er  - 

"Well,  you're  a  Democrat  no  longer.  You're 
done  for,  do  you  understand  ?  And  we're  done 
with  you!" 

"You  mean,"  the  old  man's  voice  shook  al- 
most beyond  control;  "you  mean  you're  tryin'  to 
read  me  out  of  the  party?" 

"Trying  to!"  Hurlbut  turned  to  the  door. 
"You're  out!  It's  done.  You  can  thank  God  that 


ISO  IN  THE  ARENA 

your  'friends'  did  their  work  so  well  that  we  can't 
prove  what  we  know.  On  my  soul,  you  dog,  if  we 
could  I  believe  some  of  the  boys  would  send 
you  over  the  road. " 

An  hour  after  he  had  gone,  Uncle  Billy  roused 
himself  from  his  stupor,  and  the  astonished 
landlady  heard  his  shuffling  step  on  the  stair.  She 
followed  him  softly  and  curiously  to  the  front 
door,  and  watched  him.  He  was  bare-headed  but 
had  not  far  to  go.  The  night-flare  of  the  cheap, 
all-night  saloon  across  the  sodden  street  sil- 
houetted the  stooping  figure  for  a  moment  and 
then  the  swinging  doors  shut  the  old  man  from 
her  view.  She  returned  to  her  parlour  and  sat 
waiting  for  his  return  until  she  fell  asleep  in  her 
chair.  She  awoke  at  two  o  'clock,  went  to  his  room, 
and  was  aghast  to  find  it  still  vacant. 

"The  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  all!"  she  cried 
aloud.  "To  think  that  old  rascal'd  go  out  on  a 
spree!  He'd  better  of  stayed  in  the  country  where 
he  belonged." 

It  was  the  next  morning  that  the  House  re- 
ceived a  shock  which  loosed  another  riot,  but  one 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  131 

of  a  kind  different  from  that  which  greeted  Repre- 
sentative Rollinson's  vote  on  the  "Breaker. "  The 
reading -clerk  had  sung  his  way  through  an  in- 
consequent bill ;  most  of  the  members  were  buried 
in  newspapers,  gossiping,  idling,  or  smoking  in 
the  lobbies,  when  a  loud,  cracked  voice  was  heard 
shrilly  demanding  recognition. 

"  Mr.  Speaker! "  Every  one  turned  with  a  start. 
There  was  Uncle  Billy,  on  his  feet,  violently  wav- 
ing his  hands  at  the  Speaker.  "  Mr.  Speaker,  Mr. 
Speaker,  Mr.  Speaker!"  His  dress  was  disordered 
and  muddy;  his  eyes  shone  with  a  fierce,  absurd, 
liquorish  light;  and  with  each  syllable  that  he  ut- 
tered his  beard  wagged  to  an  unspeakable  effect 
of  comedy.  He  offered  the  most  grotesque  spec- 
tacle ever  seen  in  that  hall  —  a  notable  dis- 
tinction. 

For  a  moment  the  House  sat  in  paralytic  as- 
tonishment. Then  came  an  awed  whisper  from  a 
Republican:  "Has  the  old  fool  really  found  his 
voice?" 

"No,  he's  drunk,"  said  a  neighbour.  "I  guess 
he  can  afford  it,  after  his  vote  yesterday!" 


132  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Mister  Speaker!  Mister  Speaker!" 

The  cracked  voice  startled  the  lobbies.  The 
hangers-on,  the  typewriters,  the  janitors,  the 
smoking  members  came  pouring  into  the  cham- 
ber and  stood,  transfixed  and  open-mouthed. 

"Mister  Speaker!" 

Then  the  place  rocked  with  the  gust  of  laughter 
and  ironical  cheering  that  swept  over  the  Assem- 
bly. Members  climbed  upon  their  chairs  and  on 
desks,  waving  handkerchiefs,  sheets  of  foolscap, 
and  waste-baskets.  "  Hear  'im!  He-ear  'im!"  rang 
the  derisive  cry. 

The  Speaker  yielded  in  the  same  spirit  and 
said: 

"The  Gentleman  from  Wixinockee." 

A  semi-quiet  followed  and  the  cracked  voice 
rose  defiantly: 

"That's  who  I  am!  I'm  the  Gentleman  from 
Wixinockee  an'  I  stan'  here  to  defen'  the  princi- 
ples of  the  Democratic  party!" 

The  Democrats  responded  with  violent  hoot- 
ings,  supplemented  by  cheers  of  approval  from 
the  Republicans.  The  high  voice  out-shrieked 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  133 

them  all:  "Once  a  Democrat,  always  a  Demo- 
crat! I  voted  Dem'cratic  tick't  forty  year,  born  a 
Democrat  an'  die  a  Democrat.  Fellow  sizzens,  I 
want  to  say  to  you  right  here  an'  now  that  prin- 
ciples of  Dem'cratic  party  saved  this  country  a 
hun'erd  times  from  Republican  mal-'diminis- 
tration  an'  degerdation!  Lemme  tell  you  this: 
you  kin  take  my  life  away  but  you  can't  say  I 
don'  stan'  by  Dem'cratic  party,  mos'  glorious 
party  of  Douglas  an'  Tilden,  Hen'ricks,  Henry 
Clay,  an'  George  Washin'ton.  I  say  to  you  they 
hain't  no  other  party  an'  I'm  member  of  it 
till  death  an'  Hell  an'  f'rever  after,  so  help 
me  God!" 

He  smote  the  desk  beside  him  with  the  back 
of  his  hand,  using  all  his  strength,  skinning  his 
knuckles  so  that  the  blood  dripped  from  them,  un- 
noticed. He  waved  both  arms  continually,  bend- 
ing his  body  almost  double  and  straightening  up 
again,  in  crucial  efforts  for  emphasis.  All  the  old 
jingo  platitudes  that  he  had  learned  from  cam- 
paign speakers  throughout  his  life,  the  nonsense 
and  brag  and  blat,  the  cheap  phrases,  all  the 


134  IN  THE  ARENA 

empty  balderdash  of  the  platform,  rushed  to  his 
incoherent  lips. 

The  lord  of  misrule  reigned  at  the  end  of  each 
sentence,  as  the  members  sprang  again  upon  the 
chairs  and  desks,  roaring,  waving,  purple  with 
laughter.  The  Speaker  leaned  back  exhausted  in 
his  chair  and  let  the  gavel  rest.  Spectators,  pages, 
galleries  whooped  and  howled  with  the  members. 
Finally  the  climax  came. 

"  I  want  to  say  to  you  just  this  here, "  shrilled 
the  cracked  voice,  "  an'  you  can  tell  the  Repub- 
lican party  that  I  said  so,  tell  'em  straight  from 
me,  an'  I  hain't  goin'  back  on  it;  I  reckon  they 
know  who  I  am,  too;  I'm  a  man  that's  honest  — 
I'm  as  honest  as  the  day  is  long,  I  am  —  as  hon- 
est as  the  day  is  long  - 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  voice.  "Yes," 
it  cried,  "when  that  day  is  the  twenty-first  of 
December!" 

That  let  pandemonium  loose  again,  wilder, 
madder  than  before.  A  member  threw  a  pamph- 
let at  Uncle  Billy.  In  a  moment  the  air  was  thick 
with  a  Brobdingnagian  snow-storm:  pamphlets, 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  135 

huge  wads  of  foolscap,  bills,  books,  newspapers, 
waste-baskets  went  flying  at  the  grotesque  target 
from  every  quarter  of  the  room.  Members  "  rush- 
ed" the  old  man,  hooting,  cheering;  he  was  toss- 
ed about,  half  thrown  down,  bruised,  but,  clam- 
orous over  all  other  clamours,  jumping  up  and 
down  to  shriek  over  the  heads  of  those  who  hus- 
tled him,  his  hands  waving  frantically  in  the  air, 
his  long  beard  wagging  absurdly,  still  desperately 
vociferating  his  Democracy  and  his  honesty. 

That  was  only  the  beginning.  He  had,  indeed, 
"  found  his  voice  " ;  f or  he  seldom  went  now  to  the 
boarding-house  for  his  meals,  but  patronized  the 
free-lunch  counter  and  other  allurements  of  the 
establishment  across  the  way.  Every  day  he  rose 
in  the  House  to  speak,  never  failing  to  reach  the 
assertion  that  he  was  "as  honest  as  the  day  is 
long, "  which  was  always  greeted  in  the  same  way. 

For  a  time  he  was  one  of  the  jokes  that  light- 
ened the  tedious  business  of  law-making,  and  the 
members  looked  forward  to  his  "Mis-ter  Speaker" 
as  schoolboys  look  forward  to  recess.  But,  after 
a  week,  the  novelty  was  gone. 


136  IN  THE  ARENA 

The  old  man  became  a  bore.  The  Speaker  re- 
fused to  recognize  him,  and  grew  weary  of  the 
persistent  shrilling.  The  day  came  when  Uncle 
Billy  was  forcibly  put  into  his  seat  by  a  disgusted 
sergeant-at-arms.  He  was  half  drunk  (as  he  had 
come  to  be  most  of  the  time),  but  this  humiliation 
seemed  to  pierce  the  alcoholic  vapours  that  sur- 
rounded his  always  feeble  intelligence.  He  put  his 
hands  up  to  his  face  and  cried  like  a  whimpering 
child.  Then  he  shuffled  out  and  went  back  to  the 
saloon.  He  soon  acquired  the  habit  of  leaving  his 
seat  in  the  House  vacant;  he  was  no  longer  al- 
lowed to  make  speeches  there;  he  made  them  in 
the  saloon,  to  the  amusement  of  the  loafers  and 
roughs  who  infested  it.  They  badgered  him,  but 
they  let  him  harangue  them,  and  applauded  his 
rhodomontades. 

Hurlbut,  passing  the  place  one  night  at  the  end 
of  the  session,  heard  the  quavering,  drunken 
voice,  and  paused  in  the  darkness  to  listen. 

"I  tell  you,  fellow-countrymen,  I've  voted 
Democratic  tick't  forty  year,  live  a  Dem'crat,  die 
a  Dem'crat!  An'  I'm's  honest  as  day  is  long!" 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  13? 

It  was  five  years  after  that  session,  when  Hurl- 
but,  now  in  the  national  Congress,  was  called  to 
the  district  in  which  Wixinockee  lies,  to  assist  his 
hard-pressed  brethren  in  a  campaign.  He  was 
driving,  one  afternoon,  to  a  political  meeting  in 
the  country,  when  a  recollection  came  to  him  and 
he  turned  to  the  committee  chairman,  who  ac- 
companied him,  and  said: 

"  Didn't  Uncle  Billy  Rollinson  live  somewhere 
near  here  ?  " 

"Why,  yes.  You  knew  him  in  the  legislature, 
didn't  you?" 

"A  little.  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"Just  up  ahead  here.  I'll  show  you." 

They  reached  the  gate  of  a  small,  unkempt, 
weedy  graveyard  and  stopped. 

"The  inscription  on  the  head-board  is  more  or 
less  amusing, "  said  the  chairman,  as  he  got  out  of 
the  buggy,  "considering  that  he  was  thought  to 
be  pretty  crooked,  and  I  seem  to  remember  that 
he  was  '  read  out  of  the  party,'  too.  But  he  wrote 
the  inscription  himself,  on  his  death-bed,  and  his 
son  put  it  there. " 


138  IN  THE  ARENA 

There  was  a  sparse  crop  of  brown  grass  grow* 
ing  on  the  grave  to  which  he  led  his  companion. 
A  cracked  wooden  head-board,  already  tilting 
rakishly,  marked  Henry's  devotion.  It  had  been 
white-washed  and  the  inscription  done  in  black 
letters,  now  partly  washed  away  by  the  rain,  but 
still  legible: 

HERE   LIES 

THE   MORTAL   REMAINS 
OF 

WILLIAM  ROLLINSON 

A    LIFE-LONG 

DEMOCRAT 

AND 
A 

MAN 

AS  HONEST  AS  THE  DAY  IS  LONG 

The  chairman  laughed.  "Don't  that  beat 
thunder  ?  You  knew  his  record  in  the  legislature 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes." 


THE  NEED  OF  MONEY  189 

"  He  was  as  crooked  as  they  say  he  was,  wasn't 
he?" 

Hurlbut  had  grown  much  older  in  five  years, 
and  he  was  in  Congress.  He  was  climbing  the 
ladder,  and,  to  hold  the  position  he  had  gained, 
and  to  insure  his  continued  climbing,  he  had 
made  some  sacrifices  within  himself  by  obliging 
his  friends  —  sacrifices  which  he  did  not  name. 

"I  could  hardly  say,"  he  answered  gently,  his 
down-bent  eyes  fastened  on  the  sparse,  brown 
grass.  "  It's  not  for  us  to  judge  too  much.  I  be- 
lieve, maybe,  that  if  he  could  hear  me  now,  I'd 
ask  his  pardon  for  some  things  I  said  to  him 


once. ' 


HECTOR 


IT 


isn't  the  party  manager,  you  understand, 
that  gets  the  fame;  it's  the  candidate.  The 
manager  tries  to  keep  his  candidate  in  what  the 
newspapers  call  a  "blaze  of  publicity";  that  is, 
to  keep  certain  spots  of  him  in  the  blaze,  while 
sometimes  it  is  the  fact  that  a  candidate  does 
not  know  much  of  what  is  really  going  on;  he 
gets  all  the  red  fire  and  sky-rockets,  and,  in  the 
general  dazzle  and  nervousness,  is  unconscious 
of  the  forces  which  are  to  elect  or  defeat  him. 
Strange  as  it  is,  the  more  glare  and  conspicuous- 
ness  he  has,  the  more  he  usually  wants.  But  the 
more  a  working  political  manager  gets,  the  less 
he  wants.  You  see,  it's  a  great  advantage  to  keep 
out  of  the  high  lights. 

For  my  part,  not  even  being  known  or  impor- 
tant enough  to  be  named  "Dictator,"  now  and 
then,  in  the  papers,  I've  had  my  fun  in  the  game 


144  IN  THE  ARENA 

very  quietly.  Yet  I  did  come  pretty  near  being  a 
famous  man  once,  a  good  while  ago,  for  about  a 
week.  That  was  just  after  Hector  J.  Ransom 
made  his  great  speech  on  the  "  Patriotism  of  the 
Pasture"  which  set  the  country  to  talking  about 
him  and,  in  time,  brought  him  all  he  desired. 

You  remember  what  a  big  stir  that  speech 
made,  of  course  —  everybody  remembers  it.  The 
people  in  his  State  went  just  wild  with  pride, 
and  all  over  the  country  the  papers  had  a  sort  of 
catch  head-line:  "Another  Daniel  Webster  Come 
to  Judgment!"  When  the  reporters  in  my  own 
town  found  out  that  Ransom  was  a  second  cousin 
of  mine,  I  was  put  into  a  scare-head  for  the  only 
time  in  my  life.  For  a  week  I  was  a  public  char- 
acter and  important  to  other  people  besides  the 
boys  that  do  the  work  at  primaries.  I  was  inter- 
viewed every  few  minutes ;  and  a  reporter  got  me 
up  one  night  at  half-past  twelve  to  ask  for  some 
anecdotes  of  Hector's  "Boyhood  Days  and  Rise 
to  Fame." 

I  didn't  oblige  that  young  man,  but  I  knew 
enough.  I  was  always  fond  of  my  first  cousin, 


HECTOR  145 

Mary  Ransom,  Hector's  mother;  and  in  the  old 
days  I  never  passed  through  Greenville,  the  little 
town  where  they  lived,  without  stopping  over,  a 
train  or  two,  to  visit  with  her,  and  I  saw  plenty 
of  Hector!  I  never  knew  a  boy  that  left  the  other 
boys  to  come  into  the  parlour  (when  there  was 
company)  quicker  than  Hector,  and  I  certainly 
never  saw  a  boy  that  "showed  off"  more.  His 
mother  was  wrapped  up  in  him;  you  could  see 
in  a  minute  that  she  fairly  worshipped  him;  but 
I  don't  know,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Mary,  that 
I'd  have  praised  his  recitations  and  elocution  so 
much,  myself. 

Mary  and  I  wouldn't  any  more  than  get  to  tell 
each  other  how  long  since  we'd  heard  from  Aunt 
Sue,  before  Hector  would  grow  uneasy  and 
switch  around  on  the  sofa  and  say:  "Ma,  I'd 
rather  you  wouldn't  tell  cousin  Ben  about  what 
happened  at  the  G.  A.  R.  reunion.  I  don't  want 
to  go  through  all  that  stuff  again." 

At  that,  Mary's  eyes  would  light  up  and  she'd 
say:  "You  must,  Hector,  you  must!  I  want  him 
to  hear  you  do  it;  he  mustn't  go  away  without 


146  IN  THE  ARENA 

that!"  Then  she'd  go  on  to  tell  me  how  Hector 
had  recited  Lincoln's  Gettysburg  speech  at  a 
meeting  of  the  local  post  of  the  G.  A.  R.  and 
how  he  was  applauded,  and  that  many  of  the 
veterans  had  told  him  if  he  kept  on  he'd  be  Gov- 
ernor of  his  State  some  day,  and  how  proud  she 
was  of  him  and  how  he  was  so  different  from 
ordinary  boys  that  she  was  often  anxious  about 
him.  Then  she  would  urge  him  to  let  me  have 
it  —  and  he  always  would,  especially  if  I  said : 
"Oh,  don't  make  the  boy  do  it,  Mary!" 

He  would  stand  out  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
and  thrust  his  chin  out,  knitting  his  brow  and 
widening  his  nostrils,  and  shout  "  Of  the  people, 
By  the  people,  and  For  the  people"  at  the  top 
of  his  lungs  in  that  little  parlour.  He  always  had 
a  great  talent  for  mimicry,  a  talent  of  which  I 
think  he  was  absolutely  unconscious.  He  would 
give  his  speeches  in  exactly  the  boy-orator  style; 
that  is,  he  imitated  speakers  who  imitated  others 
who  had  heard  Daniel  Webster.  Mary  and  he, 
however,  had  no  idea  that  he  imitated  anybody; 
they  thought  it  was  creative  genius. 


HECTOR  147 

When  he  had  finished  Lincoln,  he  would  say: 
**  Well,  I've  got  another  that's  a  good  deal  bet- 
ter, but  I  don't  want  to  go  through  that  to-day; 
it's  too  much  trouble,"  with  the  result  that  in  a 
few  minutes  Patrick  Henry  would  take  a  turn 
or  two  in  his  grave.  Hector  always  placed  himself 
by  a  table  for  "Liberty  or  Death,"  and  barked 
his  knuckles  on  it  for  emphasis.  Little  he  cared, 
so  long  as  he  thought  he'd  got  his  effect!  You 
could  see,  in  spite  of  the  intensity  of  his  express- 
ion, that  he  was  perfectly  happy. 

When  he'd  worked  us  through  that,  and  per- 
haps "Horatius  at  the  Bridge"  and  the  quarrel 
scene  between  Brutus  and  Cassius  and  was 
pretty  well  emptied,  he'd  hang  about  and  inter- 
rupt in  a  way  that  made  me  restless.  Neither 
Mary  nor  I  could  get  out  two  sentences  before 
the  boy  would  cut  in  with  something  like :  "  Don't 
tell  cousin  Ben  about  that  day  I  recited  in  school ; 
I'm  tired  of  all  that  guff!" 

Then  Mary  would  answer:  "It  isn't  guff, 
precious.  I  never  was  prouder  of  you  in  my  life." 
And  she'd  go  on  to  tell  me  about  another  of  his 


148  IN  THE  ARENA 

triumphs,  and  how  he  made  up  speeches  of  his 
own  sometimes,  and  would  stand  on  a  box  and 
deliver  them  to  his  boy  friends,  though  she 
didn't  say  how  the  boys  received  them.  All  the 
while,  Hector  would  stare  at  me  like  a  neigh- 
bour's cat  on  your  front  steps,  to  see  what  im- 
pression it  made  on  me;  and  I  was  conscious 
that  he  was  sure  that  I  knew  he  was  a  wonderful 
boy.  I  think  he  felt  that  everybody  knew  it.  Hec- 
tor kind  of  palled  on  me. 

When  he  was  about  sixteen,  Mary  wrote  me 
that  she  was  in  great  distress  about  him  because 
he  had  decided  to  go  on  the  stage;  that  he  had 
written  to  John  McCullough,  offering  to  take  the 
place  of  leading  man  in  his  company  to  begin 
with.  Mary  was  sure,  she  said,  that  the  life  of  an 
actor  was  a  hard  one;  Hector  had  always  been 
very  delicate  (I  had  known  him  to  eat  a  whole 
mince  pie  without  apparent  distress  afterward) 
and  she  wanted  me  to  write  and  urge  him  to 
change  his  mind.  She  felt  sure  Mr.  McCullough 
would  send  for  him  at  once,  because  Hector  had 
written  him  that  he  already  knew  all  the  princr 


HECTOR  149 

pal  Shakespearian  roles,  could  play  Brutus, 
Cassius,  or  Mark  Antony  as  desired;  and  he 
had  added  a  letter  of  recommendation  from  the 
Mayor  of  their  city,  declaring  that  Hector  was  a 
finer  elocutionist  and  tragedian  than  any  actor 
he  had  ever  seen. 

The  dear  woman's  anxiety  was  needless,  for 
she  wrote  me,  with  as  much  surprise  as  pleasure, 
two  months  later,  that  for  some  reason  Mr.  Mc- 
Cullough  had  not  answered  the  letter,  and  that 
she  was  very  happy;  she  had  persuaded  Hector 
to  go  to  college. 

How  she  kept  him  there,  the  first  two  years,  I 
don't  know,  for  her  husband  had  only  left  her 
about  four  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Of  course, 
living  in  Greenville  isn't  expensive,  but  it  does 
cost  something,  and  I  honestly  believe  Mary 
came  near  to  living  on  nothing.  It  was  a  small 
college  that  she'd  sent  the  boy  to,  but  it  was  a 
mother's  point  with  her  that  Hector  should  be 
as  comfortable  as  anyone  there. 

I  stopped  off  at  Greenville,  one  day,  toward 
the  end  of  his  second  year,  but  before  he'd  come 


150  IN  THE  ARENA 

home,  and  I  saw  how  it  was.  Mary  seemed  as 
glad  as  ever  to  see  me  —  it  was  the  same  old 
bright  greeting  that  she'd  always  given  me.  She 
saw  me  from  the  dining-room  window  where  she 
was  eating  her  supper,  and  she  came  out,  run- 
ning down  to  the  gate  to  meet  me,  like  a  girl;  but 
she  looked  thin  and  pale. 

I  said  I'd  go  right  in  and  have  some  supper 
with  her,  and  at  that  the  roses  came  back  quickly 
to  her  cheeks.  "No,"  she  said,  "I  wasn't  really 
at  supper;  only  having  a  bite  beforehand;  I'm 
going  up-town  now  to  get  the  things  for  supper. 
You  smoke  a  cigar  out  on  the  porch  till  I  get 
back,  and  - 

I  took  her  by  the  arm.  "Not  much,  Mary," 
I  said.  "  I'm  going  to  have  the  same  supper  you 
had  for  yourself." 

So  I  went  straight  out  to  the  dining-room;  and 
all  I  found  on  the  table  was  some  dry  bread 
toasted  and  a  baked  apple  without  cream  or 
sugar.  It  gave  me  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what  the 
general  run  of  her  meals  must  have  been. 

I  had  a  long  talk  with  her  that  night,  and  I 


HECTOR  151 

wormed  it  out  of  her  that  Hector's  college  ex- 
penses were  about  twenty-five  dollars  a  month, 
which  left  her  six  to  live  on.  The  truth  is,  she 
didn't  have  enough  to  eat,  and  you  could  see 
how  happy  it  made  her.  She  read  me  a  good 
many  of  Hector's  letters,  her  voice  often  trem- 
bling with  happiness  over  his  triumphs.  The 
letters  were  long,  I'll  say  that  for  Hector,  which 
may  have  been  to  his  credit  as  a  son,  or  it  may 
have  been  because  he  had  such  an  interesting 
subject.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  worked 
hard;  he  had  taken  all  the  chief  prizes  for  ora- 
tory and  essay  writing  and  so  forth  that  were 
open  to  him;  he  also  allowed  it  to  be  seen  that 
he  was  the  chief  person  in  the  consideration  of 
his  class  and  the  fraternity  he  had  joined.  Mary 
had  a  sort  of  humbleness  about  being  the  mother 
of  such  a  son. 

But  I  settled  one  thing  with  her  that  night, 
though  I  had  to  hurt  her  feelings  to  do  it.  I  owned 
a  couple  of  small  notes  which  had  just  fallen  due, 
and  I  could  spare  the  money.  I  put  it  as  a 
loan  to  Hector  himself;  he  was  to  pay  me  back 


152  IN  THE  ARENA 

when  he  got  started,  and  so  it  was  arranged  that 
he  could  finish  his  course  without  his  mother's 
living  oa  apples  and  toast. 

I  went  over  to  his  Commencement  with  Mary 
and  we  hadn't  been  in  the  town  an  hour  before 
we  saw  that  Hector  was  the  king  of  the  place. 
He  had  all  the  honours ;  first  in  his  class,  first  in 
oratory,  first  in  everything;  professors  and  stu- 
dents all  kow-towed  and  sounded  the  hew-gag 
before  him.  Most  of  Mary's  time  was  put  in  cry- 
ing with  happiness.  As  for  Hector  himself,  he  had 
changed  in  just  one  way:  he  no  longer  looked  at 
people  to  see  his  effect  on  them;  he  was  too  con- 
fident of  it. 

His  face  had  grown  to  be  the  most  determined 
I  have  ever  seen.  There  was  no  obstinacy  in  it  — 
he  wasn't  a  bull-dog  —  only  set  determination. 
No  one  could  have  failed  to  read  in  it  an  im- 
mensely powerful  will.  In  a  curious  way  he 
seemed  "on  edge"  all  the  time.  His  nostrils  were 
always  distended,  the  muscles  of  his  lean  jaw 
were  never  lax,  but  continually  at  tension,  thrust- 
ing the  chin  forward  with  his  teeth  hard  together. 


HECTOR  153 

His  eyebrows  were  contracted,  I  think,  even  in 
his  sleep,  and  he  looked  at  everything  with  a  sort 
of  quick,  fierce  appearance  of  scrutiny,  though 
at  that  time  I  imagined  that  he  saw  very  little. 
He  had  a  loud,  rich  voice,  his  pronunciation  was 
clipped  to  a  deadly  distinctness;  he  was  so 
straight  and  his  head  so  high  in  the  air  that  he 
seemed  almost  to  tilt  back.  With  his  tall  figure 
and  black  hair,  he  was  a  boy  who  would  have  at- 
tracted attention,  as  they  say,  in  any  crowd,  so 
that  he  might  have  been  taken  for  a  young  actor. 
His  best  friend,  a  kind  of  Man  Friday  to  him, 
was  another  young  fellow  from  Greenville,  whose 
name  was  Joe  Lane.  I  liked  Joe.  I'd  known 
him  since  he  was  a  boy.  He  was  lazy  and 
pleasant-looking,  with  reddish  hair  and  a  drawl- 
ing, low  voice.  He  had  a  humorous,  sensible  ex- 
pression, though  he  was  dissipated,  I'd  heard, 
but  very  gentle  in  his  manners.  I  had  a  talk  with 
him  under  the  trees  of  the  college  campus  in  the 
moonlight,  Commencement  night.  I  can  see  the 
boy  lying  there  now,  sprawling  on  the  grass  with 
a  cigar  in  his  mouth. 


154  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Hector's  done  well/'  I  said. 

"Oh,  Lord,  yes!"  Joe  answered.  "He  always 
will.  He's  going  'way  up  in  the  world." 

'  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"Because  he's  so  sure  of  it.  It  only  needs  a 
little  luck  to  make  him  a  great  man.  In  fact,  he 
already  is  a  great  man." 

"You  mean  you  think  he  has  a  great  mind  ?" 

"Why,  no,  sir;  but  I  think  he  has  a  purpose  so 
big  and  so  set,  that  it  might  be  called  great,  and 
it  will  make  him  great." 

"What  purpose?" 

Joe  answered  quietly  but  very  slowly,  pulling 
at  his  cigar  after  each  syllable :  "  Hec  —  tor  —  J. 
Ran  —  som!" 

"I  declare,"  I  put  in,  "I  thought  you  were  his 
friend!" 

"  So  I  am,"  the  young  fellow  returned.  "  Friend, 
admirer,  and  doer-in-ordinary  to  Hector  J.  Ran- 
som, that's  my  quality.  I've  done  errands  and  odd 
jobs  for  him  all  my  life.  Most  people  who  meet 
him  do;  though  it  might  be  hard  to  say  why.  1 
haven't  hitched  my  wagon  to  a  star;  nobody '11 


HECTOR  155 

get  to  do  that,  because  this  star  isn't  going  to 
take  anything  to  the  zenith  but  itself." 

"Going  to  the  zenith,  is  he?" 

"Surely." 

"You  mean,"  said  I,  "that  he's  going  to  make 
a  fine  lawyer?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  think  not.  He  might  have  been 
called  one  in  the  last  generation,  but,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  nowadays  a  lawyer  has  to  work  out 
business  propositions  more  than  oratory." 

"And  you  think  Hector  has  only  his  oratory  ?" 

"I  think  that's  his  vehicle;  it's  his  racing  sulky 
and  he'll  drive  it  pretty  hard.  We're  good  friends, 
but  if  you  want  me  to  be  frank,  I  should  say  that 
he'd  drive  on  over  my  dead  body  if  it  lay  in  the 
road  to  where  he  was  going."  Lane  rolled  over 
in  the  grass  with  a  little  chuckle.  "Of  course," 
he  went  on,  "  I  talk  about  him  this  way  because  I 
know  what  you've  done  for  him  and  I'd  like  ta 
help  you  to  be  sure  that  he's  going  to  be  a  suc- 
cess. He'll  do  you  credit!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  yourself,  Joe?" 
I  asked. 


156  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Me?"  He  sat  up,  looking  surprised.  "Why, 
didn't  you  know  ?  I  didn't  get  my  degree.  They 
threw  me  out  at  the  eleventh  hour  for  getting  too 
publicly  tight  —  celebrating  Hector's  winning 
the  works  of  Lord  Byron,  the  prize  in  the  senior 
debate!  I'll  never  be  a  credit  to  anybody;  and  as 
for  what  I'm  going  to  do  —  go  back  to  Green- 
ville and  loaf  in  Tim's  pool-room,  I  suppose, 
and  watch  Hector's  balloon." 

However,  Hector's  balloon  seemed  unin- 
clined  to  soar,  at  the  set-off  —  though  Hector 
didn't.  The  next  summer  began  a  presidential 
campaign,  and  Hector,  knowing  that  I  was  chair- 
man of  my  county  committee,  and  strangely  over- 
estimating my  importance,  came  up  to  see  me :  he 
asked  me  to  use  my  influence  with  the  National 
Committee  to  have  him  sent  to  make  speeches  in 
one  of  the  doubtful  States ;  he  thought  he  could 
carry  it  for  us.  I  explained  that  I  had  no  wires 
leading  up  so  far  as  the  National  Committee. 
There  were  other  things  I  might  have  explained, 
but  it  didn't  seem  much  use.  Hector  would  have 
thought  I  wanted  to  "keep  him  down." 


HECTOR  157 

He  thought  so  anyway,  because,  after  a  crest- 
fallen moment,  he  began  to  look  at  me  in  his 
fierce  eye-to-eye  way  with  what  seemed  to  me  a 
dark  suspicion.  He  came  and  struck  my  desk 
with  his  clinched  fist  (he  was  always  strong  on 
that),  and  exclaimed: 

"Then  by  the  eternal  gods,  if  my  own  flesh 
and  blood  won't  help  me,  I'll  go  to  Chicago  my- 
self, lay  my  credentials  before  the  committee, 
unaided,  and  wring  from  them  - 

"Hold  on,  Hector,"  I  said.  "Why  didn't  you 
say  you  had  credentials  ?  What  are  they?" 

"What  are  they?"  he  answered  in  a  rising 
voice.  "You  ask  me  what  are  my  credentials? 
The  credentials  of  my  patriotism,  my  poverty, 
and  my  pride!  You  ask  me  for  my  credentials? 
The  credentials  of  youth!"  (He  hit  the  desk 
every  few  words.)  "The  credentials  of  enthus- 
iasm! The  credentials  of  strength!  You  ask  for 
my  credentials  ?  The  credentials  of  red  blood,  of 
red  corpuscles,  of  young  manhood,  ripest  in  the 
glorious  young  West!  The  credentials  of  vitality! 
Of  virile  — " 


158  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Hold  on,"  I  said  again,  but  I  couldn't  stop 
him.  He  went  on  for  probably  fifteen  minutes, 
pacing  the  room  and  gesticulating  and  thunder- 
ing at  me,  though  we  two  were  all  alone.  I  felt 
mighty  ridiculous,  but,  of  course,  I'd  been 
through  much  the  same  thing  with  one  or  two 
candidates  and  orators  before.  I  thought  then 
that  he  was  practising  on  me,  but  I  came  after- 
ward to  see  that  I  was  partly  wrong.  "Oratory" 
was  his  only  way  of  expressing  himself;  he 
couldn't  just  talk,  to  save  his  life.  All  you  could 
do,  when  he  began,  was  to  sit  and  take  it  till  he 
got  through,  which  consumed  some  valuable 
time  for  me  that  afternoon.  I  suppose  I  was  pro- 
fane inside,  for  having  given  him  that  cue  with 
"credentials."  Finally  I  got  in  a  question: 

"  Why  not  begin  a  little  more  mildly,  Hector  ? 
Why  don't  you  make  some  speeches  in  your  own 
county  first?" 

"  I  have  consented  to  make  the  Fourth  of  July 
oration  at  Greenville,"  he  answered. 

Before  he  could  go  on,  I  got  up  and  slapped 
him  on  the  back.  "That's  right!"  I  said.  "That's 


HECTOR  159 

right!  Go  back  and  show  the  home  folks  what 
you  can  do,  and  I'll  come  down  to  hear  it!" 

And  so  I  did.  Mary  was,  if  possible,  more 
flustered  and  upset  than  at  Hector's  Commence- 
ment. She  and  Joe  Lane  and  I  had  a  bench  close 
up  to  the  stand,  and  on  the  other  side  of  Mary 
sat  a  girl  I'd  never  seen  before.  Mary  introduced 
me  to  her  in  a  way  that  made  me  risk  a  guess 
that  Hector  liked  her  more  than  common.  Her 
name  was  Laura  Rainey,  and  she'd  come  to 
Greenville,  a  year  before,  to  teach  in  the  high- 
school.  She  was  young,  not  quite  twenty,  I  reck- 
oned, and  as  pretty  and  dainty  a  girl  as  ever  I 
saw;  thin  and  delicate-looking,  though  not  in  the 
sense  of  poor  health ;  and  she  struck  me  as  being 
very  sweet  and  thoughtful.  Joe  Lane  told  me, 
with  his  little  chuckle,  that  she'd  had  a  good 
deal  of  trouble  in  the  school  on  account  of  all  the 
older  boys  f  ailing  in  love  with  her. 

Something  in  the  way  he  spoke  made  me 
watch  Joe,  and  I  was  sure  if  he'd  been  one  of  her 
pupils  he  wouldn't  have  lightened  her  worries 
much  in  that  direction.  He  had  it  himself.  I  saw 


160  IN  THE  ARENA 

it,  or,  I  should  say,  I  felt  it,  in  spite  of  his  never 
seeming  to  look  at  her.  She  looked  at  him,  how- 
ever, and  pretty  often,  too ;  and  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  interest  in  her  eyes,  only  it  was  a  sad  kind, 
which  I  understood,  I  thought,  when  I  found 
that  Joe  had  been  on  a  long  spree  and  had  just 
sobered  up  the  day  before. 

Hector  sat  above  us  on  the  platform,  with 
the  Mayor  and  the  County  Judge,  and  when 
the  latter  introduced  him,  and  the  same  old 
white  pitcher  and  glass  of  water  on  a  pine  table, 
the  boy  came  forward  with  slow  and  impressive 
steps,  and,  setting  his  left  fist  on  his  hip,  allowed 
his  right  arm  to  hang  straight  by  his  side  till  his 
hand  rested  on  the  table,  like  a  statesman  of  the 
day  standing  for  a  photograph.  His  brow  con- 
tained a  commanding  frown,  and  he  stood  for 
some  moments  in  that  position,  while,  to  my  as- 
tonishment, the  crowd  cheered  itself  hoarse. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuine  enthu- 
siasm that  he  evoked,  though  I  didn't  feel  it  my- 
self. I  suppose  the  only  explanation  is  that 
he  had  a  great  deal  of  what  is  called  "mag 


HECTOR  161 

netism."  What  made  it  I  don't  know.  He  was 
good-looking  enough,  with  his  dark  eyes  and 
hair,  and  white,  intense  face  and  black  clothes; 
but  there  was  more  in  the  cheering  than  appre- 
ciation of  that.  I  could  not  doubt  that  he  pro- 
duced on  the  crowd,  by  his  quiet  attitude,  an  ap- 
parition of  greatness.  There  was  some  kind  of 
hypnotism  in  it,  I  suppose. 

The  speech  was  about  what  I  was  looking  for : 
bombastic  platitudes  delivered  with  such  earn- 
estness and  velocity  that  "every  point  scored" 
and  the  cheering  came  whenever  he  wanted  it. 

For  instance:  he  would  retire  a  few  steps 
toward  the  rear,  and,  pointing  to  the  sky,  adjure 
it  in  a  solemn  voice  which  made  every  one  lean 
forward  in  a  dead  hush : 

:<Tell  me,  ye  silent  stars,  that  seem  to  slum- 
ber 'neath  the  auroral  coverlet  of  day,  tell  me, 
down  what  laurelled  pathways  among  ye  walk 
our  dead,  the  heroes  whose  blood  was  our  beni- 
son,  bequeathing  to  us  the  heritage  of  this  flower- 
strewn  land;  they  who  have  passed  to  that  bourne 
whence  no  traveller  returns?  Answer  me:  Are 


162  IN  THE  ARENA 

not  theirs  the  loftiest  names  inscribed  on  your 
marble  catalogues  of  the  nations?"  He  let  his 
voice  out  startlingly  and  shouted:  "CREEPS 
there  a  creature  of  the  earth  with  spirit  so  sordid 
as  to  doubt  it,  to  doubt  who  heads  those  gilded 
rolls!  If  there  be,  then  /  say  to  him,  'Beware!' 
For  the  names  I  see  written  above  me  to-day  on 
the  immemorial  canopy  of  heaven  begin  with 
that  of  the  spotless  knight,  the  unsceptred  and 
uncrowned  king,  the  godlike  and  immaculate" 
(here  he  turned  suddenly,  ran  to  the  front  of  the 
stage,  and,  with  outstretched  fist  shaking  violent- 
ly over  our  heads,  thundered  at  the  full  power 
of  his  lungs):  " GEORGE  WASHINGTON !" 
He  did  the  same  for  Jefferson,  Jackson,  Lin- 
coln, Grant,  and  four  or  five  governors  and  sena- 
tors of  the  State;  and  at  every  name  the  crowd 
went  wild,  worked  up  to  it  by  Hector  in  the  same 
way.  But  what  surprised  me  was  his  daring  to 
conclude  his  list  with  a  votive  offering  laid  at  the 
feet  of  Passley  Trimmer.  Trimmer  was  the  con- 
gressional representative  of  that  district  and  one 
of  the  meanest  men  and  smartest  politicians  in 


HECTOR  103 

the  world.  He  was  always  creeping  out  of  tight 
places  and  money-scandals  by  the  skin  of  his 
teeth;  and  yet,  by  building  up  the  finest  personal 
machine  in  the  State,  he  stuck  to  his  seat  in  Con- 
gress term  after  term,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
most  of  the  intelligent  and  honest  men  in  his 
district  despised  him.  It  was  a  proof  of  the  power 
Hector  held  over  his  audience  that,  by  his  tribute 
to  Trimmer,  he  was  able  to  evoke  the  noisiest 
enthusiasm  of  the  afternoon. 

Nevertheless,  what  really  tickled  me  most  was 
the  boy's  peroration.  It  gave  me  a  pretty  clear 
insight  into  his  "innard  workings."  He  led  up 
to  it  in  his  favourite  way:  stepping  backward  a 
pace  or  two  and  sinking  his  voice  to  a  kind  of 
Edwin  Booth  quiet;  gradually  growing  a  little 
louder;  then  suddenly  turning  on  the  thunder 
and  running  forward. 

'You  ask  me  for  our  credentials?"  he  roared. 
(Nobody  had,  this  time.)  "In  the  Lexicon  of  the 
Peoples,  you  ask  me  for  my  country's  creden- 
tials ?  The  credentials  of  our  pastures,  our  popu- 
lation and  our  pride!  You  ask  me  for  my  conn- 


164  IN  THE  ARENA 

try's  credentials?  I  reply:  'The  credentials  of 
our  youth  and  our  enthusiasm!  Of  red  corpus- 
cles !  Of  red  blood !  The  credentials  of  the  virility 
and  of  the  magnificent  manhood  of  the  Columbian 
Continent!'  You  ask  for  my  country's  credentials 
and  I  answer :  *  The  credentials  of  Glory !  By  right 
of  the  eternal  and  Almighty  God! ' ' 

Of  course  there  was  a  great  deal  more,  but 
that's  enough  to  show  how  he  had  polished  it. 

I  walked  back  to  Mary's  with  Joe  Lane,  while 
Hector  followed,  making  a  kind  of  Royal  Prog- 
ress through  the  crowds,  with  his  mother  and 
Miss  Rainey. 

"You  see  it  now,  yourself,  don't  you?"  Joe 
said  to  me. 

'  You  mean  about  his  doing  well?" 

"What  else?  He's  just  shown  what  he  can  do 
with  people.  The  day  will  come  when  you'll  have 
to  take  him  at  his  own  valuation." 

I  couldn't  help  laughing.  "  Well,  Joe,"  I  said, 
uthat  sounds  as  if  you,  at  least,  already  took 
Hector  at  his  own  valuation.'1 


HECTOR  165 

"In  some  things,"  he  answered,  "I  think  I  do. 
Don't  you  take  him  for  an  ass,  sir.  Sometimes  I 
believe  he's  guided  by  a  really  superior  intelli- 
gence - 

"Must  be  a  sub-consciousness,  then,  Joe!" 

"Exactly,"  he  said  seriously.  "He  doesn't 
make  a  single  mistake.  He's  trained  his  manner 
so  that,  while  a  very  few  people  laugh  at  him, 
he  does  things  that  the  town  would  resent  in  any 
one  else.  He  doesn't  go  round  with  the  boys,  and 
they  look  up  to  him  for  it.  He  isn't  pompous,  but 
he's  acquired  a  kind  of  stateliness  of  manner 
that's  made  Greenville  call  him '  Mister  Ransom' 
instead  of  'Hec.'  You  probably  think  that  his 
request  to  the  National  Committee  only  shows 
he's  got  all  the  nerve  in  the  world;  but  I  believe, 
on  my  soul,  that  if  it  had  been  granted  he  could 
have  made  good." 

"What  did  he  want  to  run  Passley  Trimmer 
into  his  Pantheon  for,  to-day  ?"  I  asked. 

Joe's  honest  face  looked  a  little  dark  at  this. 
"It's  only  another  proof  of  the  shrewdness  that 
directs  him,  though  it  was,  maybe,  a  little  bit 


166  IN  THE  ARENA 

sickening.  He  talks  gold  and  stars  and  eternal 
gods,  about  sweetness  and  light  and  pure  politics 
and  reform,  but  he  wants  Passley  Trimmer's 
machine  to  take  him  up.  Passley  Trimmer  and 
his  brother,  Link,  are  a  good-sized  curse  to  this 
district,  I  expect  you  know,  but  Hector's  court- 
ing them.  Link  is  the  dirtiest  we've  ever  had  here, 
and  he  holds  all  the  rottenest  in  this  county  solid 
for  Passley  He's  overbearing;  ugly,  too;  shot  a 
nigger  in  the  hip  a  year  ago,  and  crippled  him  for 
life  on  account  of  a  little  back-talk,  and  got  off 
scot-free.  I  had  a  row  with  him  in  a  saloon  last 
week;  I  was  tight,  I  suppose,  though  there's  al- 
ways been  bad  blood  between  us,  anyway,  drunk 
or  sober,  and  I  didn't  know  much  what  happened, 
except  that  I  refused  to  drink  in  his  company 
and  he  cursed  me  out  and  I  blacked  an  eye  for  him 
before  they  separated  us.  Well,  sir,  next  day,  here 
was  Hector  demanding  that  I  go  and  apologize 
to  Link.  I  said  I'd  as  soon  apologize  to  a  rattle- 
snake, and  Hector  upbraided  me  in  his  rhetoric, 
but  with  a  whole  lot  of  real  feeling,  too.  He  was 
even  pathetic  about  it:  put  it  on  the  ground 


HECTOR  167 

that  I  owed  it  to  morality,  by  which  he  meant 
Hector.  I  was  known  to  be  his  most  intimate 
friend;  I  had  done  him  an  irrecoverable  injury 
with  the  Trimmers,  who  would  extend  their  re- 
taliation and  let  him  have  a  share  of  it,  as  my 
friend.  He  ended  by  declaring  that  he  should 
withhold  the  light  of  his  countenance  from  me 
until  I  had  repaired  the  wrong  done  to  his  cause, 
and  had  apologized  to  Link!" 

"Did  you  do  it?" 

The  good  fellow  answered  with  his  little 
chuckle:  "Of  course!  Don't  you  see  that  he 
gets  everybody  to  do  what  he  wants  ?  It's  almost 
sheer  will,  and  he's  a  true  cloud-compeller." 

I  wanted  to  understand  something  else,  and 
I  didn't  know  how  much  Mary  could  tell  me ;  that 
is,  I  was  sure  that  she  would  think  that  Miss 
Rainey  was  in  love  with  Hector.  Mary  wouldn't 
be  able  to  see  how  any  girl  could  help  it. 

"Joe,"  I  said,  "does  Hector  seem  much  taken 
with  this  Miss  Rainey  ?  " 

We  had  come  to  the  gate,  and  Lane  stopped 
to  relight  a  cigar  before  he  answered.  He  kept  the 


168  IN  THE  ARENA 

match  at  the  stub  until  it  burned  out,  half  hiding 
his  face  from  me  with  his  hands,  shielding  the 
flame  from  a  breeze  that  wasn't  blowing. 

"Yes,"  he  said  finally,  "as  much  as  he  could 
be  with  anybody  —  at  least  he  wants  her  to  be 
taken  with  him." 

"Do  you  think  she  is?" 

He  swung  the  gate  open,  and  stood  to  let  me 
pass  in  first.  "  She  could  be  of  great  help  to  him. 
We've  all  got  to  help  Hector." 

I  was  going  on:  "You  believe  she  will — " 

"Did  you  ever  hear,"  he  interrupted,  "of 
Jane  Welsh  Carlyle?" 

I  thought  about  that  answer  of  Joe's  most  of 
the  evening,  and  it  struck  me  he  was  right.  It 
was  one  of  those  things  you  couldn't  possibly 
explain  to  save  your  life,  but  you  knew  it:  every- 
body had  got  to  help  Hector.  Everybody  had  to 
get  behind  him  and  push.  Hector  took  it  for 
granted  in  a  way  that  passed  the  love  of  woman ! 

And  yet,  as  we  sat  at  Mary's  supper-table,  that 
evening,  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  felt  less  real 
liking  for  any  of  my  kin  than  I  felt  for  Hector, 


HECTOR  lt>9 

though,  perhaps,  that  was  because  he  seemed  to 
keep  rubbing  it  in  on  me  in  indirect  ways  that  I 
had  done  him  an  injury  by  not  helping  him  with 
the  National  Committee,  and  that  I  ought  to 
know  it,  after  his  triumph  of  the  afternoon.  I 
could  see  that  Mary  agreed  with  him,  though  in 
her  gentle  way. 

Young  Lane  and  Miss  Rainey  stayed  for  sup- 
per, too,  and  were  very  quiet.  Miss  Rainey  struck 
me  as  a  quiet  girl  generally,  and  Joe  never  talked, 
anyway,  when  in  Hector's  company.  For  that 
matter,  nobody  else  did;  there  was  mighty  little 
chance.  The  truth  is,  Hector  had  an  impediment 
of  speech :  he  couldn't  listen. 

Of  course  he  talked  only  about  himself.  That 
followed,  because  it  was  all  there  was  in  him. 
Not  that  it  always  seemed  to  be  about  himself. 
For  instance,  I  remember  one  of  his  ways  of  rub- 
bing it  into  me,  that  evening.  He  had  been  deliv- 
ering himself  of  some  opinions  on  the  nature  of 
Genius,  fragments  (like  his  "credentials"  -I 
had  a  sneaking  idea)  of  some  undeveloped  ora- 
tion or  other.  "Look  at  Napoleon!"  he  bade  us, 


170  IN  THE  ARENA 

while  Mary  was  cutting  the  pie.  "Could  B arras 
with  all  his  jealous  and  malevolent  opposition, 
could  Barras  with  all  his  craft,  all  his  machina- 
tions, with  all  the  machinery  of  the  State,  could 
Barras  oppose  the  upward  flight  of  that  mighty 
spirit?  No!  Barras,  who  should  have  been  the 
faithful  friend,  the  helper,  the  disciple  and  be- 
liever, Barras,  I  say,  set  himself  to  destroy  the 
youth  whose  genius  he  denied,  and  Barras  was 
himself  destroyed!  He  fell,  for  he  had  dared  to 
oppose  the  path  of  one  of  the  eternal  stars!" 

That  was  a  sample,  and  I  don't  exaggerate  it. 

I  couldn't  exaggerate  Hector;  it's  beyond  me;  he 

always    exaggerated    himself    beyond    anybody 

else's  power  to  do  it.  But  I  loved  to  hear  Joe 

Lane's  chuckle  and  I  got  one  out  of  him  when  I 

offered  him  a  cigar  as  we  went  out  on  the  porch. 

"Take  one,"  I  said.  "  It's  one  of  Barras's  best." 

"Better  get  in  line,"  was  all  he  added  to  the 

chuckle. 

A  good  many  visitors  dropped  in,  during  the 
evening,  Greenville's  greatest  come  to  congratu- 


HECTOR  171 

late  Hector  on  the  speech.  Everybody  in  the 
county  was  talking  about  him  that  night,  they 
said.  Hector  received  these  people  in  his  old- 
fashioned-statesman  manner,  though  I  noticed 
that  already  he  shook  hands  like  a  candidate. 
He  would  grasp  the  caller's*  hand  quickly  and 
decidedly,  instead  of  letting  the  other  do  the  grip- 
ping. And  I  could  see  that  all  those  who  came  in, 
even  hard-headed  men  twice  his  age,  treated  him 
deferentially,  with  the  air  of  intimate  respect 
that  he  somehow  managed  to  exact  from  people. 
Perhaps  I  don't  do  him  justice:  he  was  a  "mighty 
myster'us"  boy! 

I  sat  and  smoked,  lounging  in  one  of  Mary's 
comfortable  porch-chairs.  I  managed  without 
trouble  to  be  in  the  background  and  I  couldn't 
help  putting  in  most  of  my  time  studying  Joe 
Lane  and  Miss  Rainey.  Those  two  were  sitting 
on  the  side-steps  of  the  porch,  a  little  apart  from 
the  rest  of  us  —  and  a  little  apart  from  each  other, 
too.  Lord  knows  how  you  get  such  strong  im- 
pressions, but  I  was  very  soon  perfectly  sure 
that  these  two  young  people  were  in  love  with 


172  IN  THE  ARENA 

each  other  and  that  they  both  knew  it,  but  that 
they  had  given  each  other  up.  I  was  sure,  too, 
that  they  were  both  under  Hector's  spell,  and 
preposterous  as  it  may  seem,  that  they  were  un- 
der his  will,  and  that  Hector's  plans  included 
Miss  Rainey  for  himself. 

It  was  a  mighty  pretty  evening;  full  of  flower- 
smells  and  breezes  from  the  woods,  which  began 
just  across  the  village  street.  Joe  sat  in  a  sort  of 
doubled-up  fashion  he  had,  his  thin  handr 
clasped  like  a  strap  round  his  knees.  She  sat 
straight  and  trim,  both  of  them  looking  out  to- 
ward where  the  twilight  was  fading.  As  the  dark- 
ness came  on  I  could  barely  make  them  out,  a 
couple  of  quiet  shadows,  seemingly  as  far  away 
from  the  group  about  the  lamp-lit  doorway 
where  Hector  sat,  as  if  they  were  alone  on  big 
Jupiter  who  was  setting  up  to  be  the  whole 
thing,  far  out  yonder  in  the  lonely  sky. 

By  and  by,  the  moon  oozed  round  from  behind 
the  house  and  leaked  through  the  trees  and  I 
could  see  them  plainer,  two  silhouettes  against 
the  foliage  of  some  bright  lilac-bushes.  Joe 


HECTOR  173 

hadn't  budged,  but  the  back  of  Miss  Rainey's 
head  wasn't  toward  me  as  it  had  been  before ;  it 
was  her  profile.  She  was  leaning  back  a  little, 
against  a  post,  and  looking  at  Joe  -  -  just  looking 
at  him.  Neither  of  them  spoke  a  word  the  whole 
time,  and  somehow  I  felt  they  didn't  need  to,  and 
that  what  they  had  to  say  to  each  other  had  never 
been  spoken  and  never  would  be.  It  was  mighty 
pretty  —  and  sad,  too. 

I  felt  so  sorry  for  them,  but  it  made  me  more 
or  less  impatient  with  Hector,  and  with  Joe  - 
especially  with  Joe,  I  think.  It  seemed  to  me  he 
needn't  have  taken  his  temperament  so  hope- 
lessly. But  what's  the  use  of  judging?  When  a 
man  has  a  temperament  like  that,  people  who 
haven't  can't  tell  what  he's  got  to  contend 
with* 

That  Fourth  of  July  speech  gave  Hector  his 
chance.  His  district  managers  and  the  Trim- 
mer faction  saw  they  could  use  him;  and  they 
sent  him  round  stumping  the  district.  Two  cam- 
paigns  later  the  State  Committee  was  using  him, 


174  IN  THE  ARENA 

and  parts  of  his  speeches  were  being  printed  in 
all  the  party  papers  over  the  State.  Locally,  I 
suppose  you  might  say,  he  had  become  a  famous 
man;  at  least  he  acted  like  one  —  not  that  there 
was  any  essential  change  in  him.  His  style  had 
undergone  a  large  improvement,  however;  his 
language  was  less  mixed-up,  and  he  seemed 
clear-headed  enough  on  "questions  of  the  day," 
showing  himself  to  be  well-informed  and  of  a  fine 
judgment. 

In  these  things  I  thought  I  saw  the  hand  of 
Laura  Rainey.  The  teacher  was  helping  him. 
The  seriousness  of  his  face  had  increased,  he  had 
always  entirely  lacked  humour;  yet  the  spell  he 
managed  to  cast  over  his  audiences  was  greater. 
He  never  once  failed  to  "get  them  going,"  as 
they  say.  At  twenty-nine  he  was  no  longer  called 
"a  rising  young  orator";  no,  he  was  usually  in- 
troduced as  the  "Hon.  Hector  J.  Ransom,  the 
Silver-tongued  Lochinvar  of  the  West." 

Things  hadn't  changed  much  at  Greenville. 
Mary  had  always  been  so  proud  of  Hector  that 
she  hadn't  inflated  any  more  on  account  of  hi* 


HECTOR  175 

wider  successes.  She  couldn't,  because  she  hadn't 
any  room  left  for  it. 

Joe  Lane  still  went  on  his  periodical  sprees 
quite  regularly,  about  one  week  every  three 
months,  and  he  was  the  least  offensive  tippler  I 
ever  knew.  He  came  up  to  the  city  during  one  of 
his  lapses,  and  called  at  my  office.  He  was  dress- 
ed with  unusual  care  (he  was  always  a  good  deal 
of  a  dandy),  and  he  did  not  stagger  nor  slush  his 
syllables;  indeed,  the  only  way  1  could  have  told 
what  was  the  matter  with  him,  at  first,  was  by 
the  solemn  preoccupation  of  his  expression.  A 
little  black  pickaninny  followed  him,  grinning 
and  carrying  a  big  bundle,  covered  with  a  new 
lace  window-curtain, 

"  I  am  but  a  bearer  of  votive  flowers,"  Joe  said, 
bowing.  Then  turning  to  the  little  darky,  he 
waved  his  hand  loftily.  "Unveil  the  offering!" 

The  pickaninny  did  so,  removing  the  lace  cur- 
tain to  reveal  a  shiny  new  coal-bucket  in  which 
was  a  lump  of  ice,  whereon  reposed  a  pair  of 
white  kid  gloves  and  a  large  wreath  of  artificial 
daisies. 


176  IN  THE  ARENA 

"With  love,"  said  Joe.  "From  Hector."  And 
he  stalked  majestically  out. 

There  was  a  card  on  the  wreath,  which  Joe 
had  inscribed:  "To  announce  the  betrothal.  No 
regrets." 

Sure  enough,  the  next  morning  I  had  a  let- 
ter from  Mary,  telling  me  that  Hector  and 
Miss  Rainey  were  engaged,  that  they  had  been 
so  without  announcing  it,  for  several  years,  and 
she  feared  the  engagement  must  last  much  longer 
before  they  could  be  married.  So  did  I,  for  all  of 
Hector's  glittering  had  brought  him  very  little 
money.  While  he  had  some  law  practice,  of 
course  it  was  small,  in  Greenville,  and  what  he 
had  he  neglected.  Nor  was  he  a  good  lawyer.  I 
knew  him  to  be  heavily  in  debt  to  Lane,  whose 
father  had  died  lately,  leaving  Joe  fairly  well  off; 
and  I  knew  also  that  this  debt  sat  very  lightly 
on  Hector.  I  judged  so,  because  in  the  matter  of 
the  advances  I  had  made  for  his  education,  I 
never  heard  him  refer  to  them.  Probably  he  for- 
got all  about  it,  having  so  many  more  important 
things  to  think  of. 


HECTOR  177 

Mary  was  right:  it  was  a  very  long  engage- 
ment. It  had  lasted  seven  years  in  all,  when 
Passley  Trimmer  declared  himself  a  candidate 
for  the  nomination  for  Governor  and  gave  Hector 
the  great  chance  he  had  been  waiting  for.  Hector 
"came  out"  for  Trimmer,  and  came  out  strong. 
He  worked  for  him  day  and  night,  and  he  was  one 
of  the  best  cards  in  Trimmer's  hand. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  understand:  Trimmer's 
nomination  would  leave  his  seat  in  Congress  va- 
cant and  the  Trimmer  crowd  would  throw  it  to 
Hector. 

You  could  see  that  the  "young  Lochinvar" 
was  really  a  power,  and  I  think  they  counted  on 
him  almost  as  much  as  on  the  personal  machine 
Trimmer  had  built  up.  Most  of  all,  they  counted 
on  Hector's  speech,  nominating  Trimmer,  to 
stampede  the  convention.  If  it  was  to  be  done, 
Hector  was  the  man  to  do  it.  There's  no  doubt 
in  the  world  of  the  extraordinary  capacity  he  had 
for  whirling  a  crowd  along  into  a  kind  of  insane 
enthusiasm.  He  could  make  his  audience  en- 
thusiastic about  anything;  he  could  have  brought 


178  IN  THE  ARENA 

them  to  their  feet  waving  and  cheering  for  Ben 
Butler  himself,  if  he  had  set  out  to  do  it.  I  believe 
that  most  of  us  who  were  against  Trimmer  were 
more  afraid  of  Hector's  stampeding  the  con- 
vention than  of  Trimmer's  machine  and  all  the 
money  he  was  spending. 

I  was  working  all  I  knew  for  another  man, 
Henderson,  of  my  county,  and  our  delegation 
would  go  into  the  convention  sixty-three  solid 
for  Henderson,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  On 
that  account  I  had  to  play  B arras  again  to  the 
young  Napoleon.  He  came  to  see  me,  and  made 
one  of  his  orations,  imploring  me  to  swing  half 
of  our  delegation  for  Trimmer  on  the  first  ballot, 
and  all  of  it  on  the  second. 

"But  they  count  on  me!"  he  declaimed.  "They 
count  on  me  to  turn  you!  Is  a  man  to  be  denied 
by  his  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  Are  the  ties  of  re- 
lationship nothing  ?  Can't  you  see  that  my  whole 
future  is  put  in  jeopardy  by  your  refusal  ?  Here 
is  my  opportunity  at  last  and  you  endanger  it. 
My  marriage  and  my  fortune  depend  on  it;  the 
cup  is  at  my  lips.  My  long  years  of  toil  and  prep- 


HECTOR  179 

aration,  the  bitter,  bitter  waiting  —  are  these 
things  to  go  for  nothing  ?  I  tell  you  that  if  you  re- 
fuse me  you  may  blast  the  most  sacred  hopes 
that  ever  dwelt  in  a  human  breast!" 

I  only  smoked  on,  and  so  he  did  "the  jury 
pathetic,"  and  he  was  sincere  in  it,  too. 

"Have  you  no  heart?"  he  inquired,  his  voice 
shaking.  "Can  you  think  calmly  of  my  mother ? 
Remember  the  years  she  has  waited  to  see  this 
recognition  come  to  her  son!  Am  I  to  go  back 
to  her  and  tell  her  that  your  answer  was  *  No '  ? 
I  ask  you  to  think  of  her,  I  ask  you  to  put 
self  out  of  your  thoughts,  to  forget  your  own 
interests  for  once,  and  to  think  of  my  mother, 
waiting  in  the  old  home  in  the  quiet  village  street 
where  you  knew  her  in  her  bright  girlhood. 
Remember  that  she  awaits  your  answer;  forget 
me  if  you  will,  but  remember  what  it  means 
to  her,  I  say,  and  then  if  there  is  a  stone  in  your 
breast,  instead  of  a  human  heart,  speak  the  word 
"No'!" 

I  spoke  it,  and,  as  he  had  to  catch  his  train,  he 
departed  more  in  anger  than  in  sorrow,  leaving 


180  IN  THE  ARENA 

me  to  my  conscience,  he  told  me.  At  the  door  he 
turned. 

"I  warn  you,"  he  said,  "that  this  faction  of 
yours  shall  go  down  to  defeat !  Trimmer  will  win 
this  fight,  and  I  shall  take  his  seat  in  Congress! 
That  is  my  first  stepping-stone,  and  I  will  take 
it !  I  have  worked  too  hard  and  waited  too  long, 
for  such  as  you  to  successfully  oppose  me.  I  tell 
you  that  we  shall  meet  in  the  convention,  and 
you  and  your  machine  will  be  broken!  The  re- 
wards, then,  to  us,  the  victors!" 

"Why,  of  course,"  I  said,  "if  you  win." 

The  Trimmer  people  were  strong  with  the 
State  Executive  Committee,  and,  in  spite  of  us, 
worked  things  a  good  deal  their  own  way.  They 
took  the  convention  away  from  the  State  Capi- 
tal to  Greenville,  which  was,  of  course,  a  great 
advantage  for  Trimmer.  The  fact  is,  that  most  of 
the  best  people  in  that  district  didn't  like  him, 
but  you  know  how  we  all  are :  he  was  one  of  them, 
and  as  soon  as  it  seemed  he  had  a  chance  to  beat 
men  from  other  parts  of  the  State,  they  began 


HECTOR  181 

to  shout  themselves  black  in  the  face  for  their 
own.  When  I  went  down  there,  the  day  before 
the  convention,  the  place  was  one  mass  of  Trim- 
mer flags,  banners,  badges,  transparencies,  but- 
tons, and  brass  bands. 

I  went  around  to  see  Mary  right  away,  and 
while  she  wasn't  exactly  cold  to  me  —  the  dear 
woman  never  could  be  that  to  anybody  —  she 
was  different;  her  eyes  met  mine  sadly  and  her 
old,  sweet  voice  was  a  little  tremulous,  as  if  she 
were  sorry  that  I  had  done  something  wrong. 

I  didn't  stay  long.  I  started  back  to  the  Hen- 
derson headquarters  in  the  hotel,  but  on  my 
way  I  passed  a  big  store-room  on  a  corner  of  the 
Square,  which  Trimmer  had  fitted  up  as  his  own 
headquarters.  There  was  quite  a  crowd  of  the 
boys  going  in  and  out,  looking  cheerful,  fresh 
cigars  in  their  mouths,  and  a  drink  or  two  inside, 
band  coming  down  the  street,  everything  the  way 
an  old-timer  likes  to  see  it. 

Passley  Trimmer  himself  came  out  as  I  was 
going  by,  and  with  him  were  his  brother,  Link, 
and  two  or  three  other  men,  among  them  a 


182  IN  THE  ARENA 

weasel-faced  little  fellow  named  Hugo  Siffles, 
who  kept  a  drug-store  on  the  next  corner.  Hugo 
wasn't  anybody;  nobody  ever  paid  any  attention 
to  him  at  all;  but  he  was  one  of  those  empty- 
headed  village  talkers  who  are  always  trying  to 
look  as  if  they  were  behind  the  scenes,  always 
trying  to  walk  with  important  people.  Everybody 
knows  them.  They  whisper  to  the  undertaker  at 
funerals;  and  during  campaigns  they  have  some- 
thing confidential  to  communicate  to  United 
States  Senators.  They  meddle  and  intrude  and 
waste  as  much  time  for  you  as  they  can. 

When  Trimmer  saw  me,  he  held  out  his  hand. 
"Hello,  Ben!  I  hear  you're  not  for  me!"  he  said 
cordially. 

"How  are  you  running?"  I  came  back  at 
him,  laughing. 

"Oh,  we're  going  to  beat  you,"  he  answered,, 
in  the  same  way. 

"Well,  you'll  see  a  good  run,  first,  I  expect!" 

He  walked  along  with  me,  Link  and  the  others 
following  a  little  way  behind;  but  Hugo  Siffles, 
of  course,  walking  with  us,  partly  to  listen  and 


HECTOR  188 

tell  at  the  drug-store  later,  and  partly  to  look  like 
state  secrets. 

"Sorry  you  couldn't  see  your  way  to  join  us," 
Trimmer  said.  "But  we'll  win  out  all  right,  any- 
way. I  shouldn't  think  that  would  be  much  of  a 
disappointment  to  you,  though.  It  will  be  a  great 
thing  for  one  of  your  family." 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  "Hector." 

Trimmer  took  on  a  little  of  his  benevolent 
statesman's  manner,  which  they  nearly  all  get  in 
time.  "I  have  the  greatest  confidence  in  that 
young  man's  future,"  he  said.  "He  may  go  to  the 
very  top.  All  he  needs  is  money.  I  speak  to  you 
as  a  relative:  he  ought  to  drop  that  school-teacher 
and  marry  a  girl  with  money.  He  could,  easily 
enough." 

That  made  me  a  little  ugly.  "  Oh,  no,"  I  said. 
"  He  can  make  plenty  in  Congress  outside  of  his 
salary,  can't  he  ?  I  understand  some  of  them  do." 

Of  course  Trimmer  didn't  lose  his  temper; 
instead,  he  laughed  out  loud,  and  then  put  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "I'm  his  friend  and 


184  IN  THE  ARENA 

you're  his  cousin.  He's  one  of  my  own  crowd  and 
I  have  his  best  interests  at  heart.  That  isn't  the 
girl  for  him.  He  tells  me  that,  for  a  long  while, 
she  used  to  advise  him  against  having  too  much 
to  do  with  me,  until  he  showed  her  that  winning 
my  influence  in  his  favour  was  his  only  chance  to 
rise.  Now,  if  you  have  his  best  interests  at  heart, 
as  I  have,  you'll  help  persuade  him  to  let  her  go. 
Why  shouldn't  he  marry  better?  She's  not  so 
young  any  longer,  and  she's  pretty  much  lost 
her  looks.  And  then,  you  know  people  will 
talk  — " 

"Talk  about  what?"  I  said. 

"Well,  if  he  goes  to  Congress,  and,  with  his 
prospects,  throws  himself  away  on  a  skinny  little 
old-maid  school-teacher  in  the  backwoods,  one 
that  he's  been  making  love  to  for  years,  they 
might  say  almost  anything.  Why  can't  he  hand 
her  over  to  Joe  Lane  ?  I'm  sure  — 

"That'll  do,"  I  interrupted  roughly.  "I  sup- 
pose you've  been  talking  that  way  to  Hector?" 

"Why,  certainly.  I  have  his  best  interests 
at  — "  " 


HECTOR  185 

"Good-day,  sir!"  I  said,  and  turned  in  at  the 
hotel  and  left  him,  with  Hugo  Siffles's  little  bright 
pig's  eyes  peeking  at  me  round  Trimmer's 
shoulder. 

Sore  enough  I  was,  and  cursing  Trimmer  and 
Hector  in  my  heart,  so  that  when  some  one 
knocked  on  my  door,  while  I  was  washing  up  for 
supper,  I  said  "Come  in!"  as  if  I  were  telling 
a  dog  to  get  out. 

It  was  Joe  Lane  and  he  was  pretty  drank.  He 
walked  over  to  the  bed  and  caught  himself  un- 
steadily once  or  twice.  I'd  never  seen  him  stagger 
before.  He  didn't  speak  until  he  had  sat  down  on 
the  coverlet;  then  he  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
hand  and  stared  at  me  as  if  he  wanted  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  I. 

"I've  just  been  down  to  Hugo  Siffles's  drug- 
store," he  said,  speaking  very  slowly  and  care- 
fully, "and  Hugo  was  telling  a  crowd  about  a 
conver  —  conversation  between  you  and  Passley 
Trimmer.  He  said  Trimmer  said  Hector  Ran- 
som ought  to  drop  Miss  Rainey  —  amdi  'hand 
her  over  to  Joe  Lane.'  Is  that  true  ?" 


186  IN  THE  ARENA 

"Yes/'  I  answered.  "The  beast  said  that." 

"There  was  more,"  Joe  said  heavily.  "More 
that  im  —  implied -- might  be  taken  to  imply 
scandal,  which  I  believe  Trimmer  did  not  seri- 
ously intend  — but  thought  —  thought  might  be 
used  as  an  argument  with  Hector  to  persuade 
him  to  jilt  her?" 

"Yes." 

'What  was  said  ex  —  actly?  It  is  being  re- 
peated about  town  in  various  forms.  I  want  to 
know." 

Like  a  fool  I  told  him  the  whole  thing.  I 
didn't  think,  didn't  dream,  of  course,  what  was 
in  that  poor,  drunken,  devoted  head,  and  I 
wanted  to  blow  off  my  own  steam,  I  was  so  hot. 

He  sat  very  quietly  until  I  had  finished;  then 
he  took  his  head  in  both  hands  and  rocked  him- 
self gently  to  and  fro  upon  the  bed,  and  I  saw 
tears  trickling  down  his  cheeks.  It  was  a  wretched 
spectacle  in  a  way,  he  being  drunk  and  crying  like 
a  child,  but  I  don't  think  I  despised  him. 

"And  she  so  true,"  he  sobbed,  "so  good,  so 
faithful  to  kirn!  She's  given  him  her  youtk,  her 


HECTOR  187 

whole  sweet  youth  —  all  of  it  for  him!"  He  got 
to  his  feet  and  went  to  the  door. 

"Hold  on,  Joe,"  I  said,  "where  are  you  go- 
ing?" 

"  'Not her  drink ! "  he  said,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

After  supper  I  went  to  work  with  Henderson 
and  three  or  four  others  in  a  little  back-room  in 
our  headquarters;  and  we  were  hard  at  it  when 
one  of  the  boys  held  up  his  hand  and  said: 
"Listen!" 

The  sounds  of  a  big  disturbance  came  in 
through  the  open  windows :  shouting  and  yelling, 
and  crowds  running  in  the  streets  below.  The 
town  had  been  so  noisy  all  evening  that  I 
thought  nothing  of  it.  "It's  only  some  delega- 
tion getting  in,"  I  said.  "  Go  on  with  the  lists." 

But  I'd  no  more  than  got  the  words  out  of  my 
mouth  than  the  noise  rolled  into  the  outer  rooms 
of  our  headquarters  like  a  wave,  and  there  was  a 
violent  hammering  on  the  door  of  our  room, 
some  one  calling  my  name  in  a  loud  frightened 
voice.  I  threw  open  the  door  and  Hug©  Siffles  fell 


198  IN  THE  ARENA 

in,  his  pig's  eyes  starting  out  of  his  pale,  foolish 
face. 

"Come  with  me!"  he  shouted,  all  in  one 
breath,  and  laying  hold  of  me  by  the  lapel  of  my 
coat,  tried  to  drag  me  after  him.  "There's  hell  to 
pay!  Joe  Lane  came  into  Trimmer's  headquar- 
ters, drunk,  twenty  minutes  ago,  and  slapped 
Passley  Trimmer's  face  for  what  he  said  to 
us  this  afternoon.  Link  Trimmer  came  in,  a  min- 
ute later,  drunk  too,  and  heard  what  had  hap- 
pened. He  followed  Joe  to  Hodge's  saloon  and 
shot  him.  They've  carried  him  to  the  drug-store 
and  he's  asked  to  speak  to  you." 

I  had  the  satisfaction  of  kicking  that  little  cuss 
through  the  door  ahead  of  me,  though  I  knew 
it  was  myself  I  ought  to  have  kicked. 

It  was  true  that  Joe  had  asked  to  speak  to  me, 
but  when  I  reached  the  drug-store  the  doctor 
wouldn't  let  me  come  into  the  back-room  where 
he  lay,  so  I  sat  on  a  stool  in  the  store.  They'd 
turned  all  the  people  out,  except  four  or  five 
friends  of  Joe's ;  and  the  glass  doors  and  the  win- 
dows were  solid  with  flattened  faces,  some  of 


HECTOR  189 

them  coloured  by  the  blue  and  green  lights  so  that 
it  sickened  me,  and  all  staring  horribly.  After 
about  four  years  the  doctor's  assistant  came  out  to 
get  something  from  a  shelf  and  I  jumped  at  him, 
getting  mighty  little  satisfaction,  you  can  be  sure. 

"It  seems  to  be  very  serious  indeed,"  was  all 
he  would  say.  I  knew  that  for  myself,  because 
one  of  the  men  in  the  store  had  told  me  that  it 
was  in  the  left  side. 

Half-an-hour  after  this  —  by  the  clock  —  the 
young  man  came  out  again  and  called  us  in  to 
carry  Joe  home.  It  was  not  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  to  the  old  Lane  place,  and  six  of  us,  walk- 
ing very  slowly,  carried  him  on  a  cot  through  the 
crowd.  He  was  conscious,  for  he  thanked  us  in 
a  weakish  whisper,  when  we  lifted  him  carefully 
into  his  own  bed.  Then  the  doctor  sent  us  all  out 
except  the  assistant,  and  we  went  to  the  front 
porch  and  waited,  hating  the  crowd  that  had 
lined  up  against  the  fence  and  about  the  gate. 
They  looked  like  a  lot  of  buzzards;  I  couldn't 
bear  the  sight  of  them,  so  I  went  back  into  the 
little  hall  and  sat  down  near  Joe's  door. 


100  IN  THE  ARENA 

After  a  while  the  assistant  opened  the  door, 
holding  a  glass  pitcher  in  his  hand. 

"Here,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  me,  "will  you 
fill  this  with  cold  water  from  the  well  ?" 

I  took  it  and  hurried  out  to  the  kitchen, 
where  four  or  five  people  were  sitting  and  glumly 
whispering  around  an  old  coloured  woman,  Joe's 
cook,  who  was  crying  and  rocking  herself  in  a 
chair.  I  hushed  her  up  and  told  her  to  show  me 
the  pump.  It  was  in  an  orchard  behind  the  house, 
and  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  things  that 
sound  like  a  siren  whistle  with  the  hiccups. 

It  took  me  about  five  minutes  to  get  the  water 
up,  and  when  I  got  back  to  Joe's  room,  a  woman 
was  there  with  the  doctors.  It  was  Miss  Rainey. 
She  had  her  hat  off,  her  sleeves  were  rolled  up 
and,  though  her  face  was  the  whitest  I  ever  saw, 
she  was  cool  and  steady.  It  was  she  who  took 
the  water  from  me  at  the  door. 

I  heard  low  voices  in  the  parlour,  where  a  lamp 
was  lit,  and  I  went  in  there.  Mary  was  sitting  on 
a  sofa,  with  a  handkerchief  hard  against  her 
eyes,  and  Hector  was  standing  in  the  middle  of 


HECTOR  191 

the  room,  saying  over  and  over,  "My  God!"  and 
shaking.  I  went  to  the  sofa  and  sat  by  Mary 
with  my  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"To  think  of  it!"  Hector  moaned.  "To  think 
of  its  coming  at  such  a  time !  To  think  of  what  it 
means  to  me!" 

His  mother  spoke  to  him  from  behind  her 
handkerchief:  "You  mustn't  do  it;  you  can't 
Hector  —  oh,  you  can't,  you  can't." 

For  answer  he  struck  himself  desperately 
across  the  forehead  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"What  is  it,"  I  asked,  "that  your  mother 
wants  you  not  to  do  ?" 

"  She  wants  me  to  give  up  Trimmer  —  to  re- 
fuse to  make  the  nominating  speech  for  him 
to-morrow." 

:<  You've  got  to  give  him  up!"  cried  his  mother; 
and  then  went  on  with  reiterations  as  passionate 
as  they  were  weak  and  broken  in  utterance. 
uYou  can't  make  the  speech,  you  can't  do  it, 
you  can't  - 

"Then  I'm  done  for!"  he  said.  "Don't  you  see 
what  a  frightful  blow  this  pitiful,  drunken  folly 


192  IN  THE  ARENA 

of  poor  Joe's  has  dealt  Trimmer's  candidacy? 
Don't  you  see  that  they  rely  on  me  more  than 
ever,  now  ?  Are  you  so  blind  you  don't  see  tliat  I 
am  the  only  man  who  can  save  Trimmer  the 
nomination  ?  If  I  go  back  on  him  now,  he's  done 
for  and  I'm  done  for  with  him!  It's  my  only 
chance!" 

"No,  no,"  she  sobbed,  "you'll  have  other 
chances;  you'll  have  plenty  of  chances,  dear; 
you're  young  - 

"My  only  chance,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  ignor- 
ing her,  "and  if  I  can  carry  it  through,  it  will 
mean  everything  to  me.  The  tide's  running 
strong  against  Trimmer  to-night,  and  I  am  the 
only  man  in  the  world  who  can  turn  it  the  other 
way.  If  I  go  into  the  convention  for  him,  faithful 
to  him,  and,  out  of  the  highest  sense  of  justice, 
explain  that,  even  though  Lane  has  been  my 
closest  friend,  he  was  in  the  wrong  and  that  - 

Mary  rose  to  her  feet  and  went  to  her  son  and 
clung  to  him.  "No,  no!"  she  cried;  "no,  no  /" 

"I've  got  to!"  he  said. 

"What  is  that  you  must  do,  Hector?"  It  was 


HECTOR  193 

Miss  Rainey's  voice,  and  came  from  just  behind 
me.  She  was  standing  in  the  doorway  that  led 
from  the  hall,  and  her  eyes  were  glowing  with  a 
brilliant,  warm  light.  We  all  started  as  she  spoke, 
and  I  sprang  up  and  turned  toward  her. 

"He's  going  to  get  well,"  she  said,  under- 
standing me.  "They  say  it  is  surely  so!" 

At  that  Mary  ran  and  threw  her  arms  about  her 
and  kissed  her  —  and  I  came  near  it !  Hector  gave 
a  sort  of  shout  of  relief  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"What  is  that  you  must  do,  Hector?"  Miss 
Rainey  said  again  in  her  steady  voice. 

"Stick  to  Trimmer!"  he  explained.  "Don't 
you  see  that  I  must?  He  needs  me  now  more 
than  ever,  and  it's  my  only  chance." 

Miss  Rainey  looked  at  him  over  Mary's 
shoulder.  She  looked  at  him  a  long  while  before 
she  spoke.  "  You  know  why  Mr.  Lane  struck  that 
blow?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered  uneasily.  "  At 
least  Siffles  — " 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "You  know.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?' 


194  IN  THE  ARENA 

"The  right  thing!"  Hector  rose  and  walked 
toward  her.  "I  put  right  before  all.  I  shall  be 
loyal  and  I  shall  be  just.  It  might  have  been  a  terri- 
bly hard  thing  to  carry  through,  but,  since  dear 
old  Joe  will  recover,  I  know  I  can  do  it." 

The  girl's  eyes  widened  suddenly,  while  the 
warm  glow  in  them  flashed  into  a  fiery  and  pro- 
found scrutiny. 

"You  are  going  to  make  the  nominating 
speech,"  she  said.  It  was  not  a  question  but  a 
declaration,  in  the  tone  of  one  to  whom  he  stood 
wholly  revealed. 

'Yes,"  he  answered  eagerly.  "I  knew  you 
would  see:  it's  my  chance,  my  whole  career  - 

But  his  mother,  turning  swiftly,  put  her  hand 
over  his  mouth,  though  it  was  to  Miss  Rainey 
that  she  cried : 

"Oh,  don't  let  him  say  it — he  can't;  you 
mustn't  let  him!" 

The  girl  drew  her  gently  away  and  put  an  arm 
about  her,  saying:  "Do  you  think  I  could  stop 
him?" 

"But  do  you  wish  to  stop  me?"  asked  Hector 


195 

sadly,  as  he  stepped  toward  her.  "Do  you  set 
yourself  not  only  in  the  way  of  my  great  chance, 
but  against  justice  and  truth?  Don't  you  see 
that  I  must  do  it?" 

"  It  is  your  chance  —  yes.  I  see  the  truth,  Hec- 
tor." Her  eyes  had  fallen  and  she  looked  at  him 
no  more,  but,  with  a  little  movement  away  from 
him,  offered  her  hand  to  him  at  arm's  length.  It 
was  done  in  a  curious  way,  and  he  looked  per- 
plexed for  a  second,  and  then  frightened.  He 
dropped  her  hand,  and  his  lips  twitched. 

"  Laura,"  he  said,  and  could  not  go  on. 

'You  must  go  now,"  she  said  to  all  three  of 
us.  "The  house  should  be  very  quiet.  I  shall  be 
his  nurse,  and  the  doctor  will  stay  all  night.  Isn't 
it  beautiful  that  Joe  is  going  to  get  well!" 

She  went  out  quickly,  before  Hector  could  de- 
tain her,  back  to  the  room  where  Lane  was. 

There  s  no  need  my  telling  you  the  details  of 
that  convention:  Henderson  was  beaten  from 
the  start,  and  Hector's  speech  was  all  that  hap- 
pened. If  he  hadn't  made  it,  there  might  have 


196  IN  THE  ARENA 

been  a  consolidation  on  a  dark  horse,  for  feeling 
was  high  against  Trimmer.  It  isn't  an  easy  thing 
to  go  into  a  convention  with  a  brother  locked  up 
in  jail  on  a  charge  of  attempted  murder ! 

I'll  never  forget  Hector's  rising  to  make  that 
speech.  There  wasn't  any  cheering,  there  was  a 
dead,  cold  hush.  This  wasn't  because  his  mag- 
netism had  deserted  him;  indeed,  I  don't  think 
it  had  ever  before  been  felt  so  strongly.  He  was 
white  as  white  paper,  and  his  face  had  a  look 
of  suffering;  altogether  I  believe  I  couldn't  give 
a  better  notion  of  him  than  saying  that  he  some- 
how made  me  think  of  Hamlet. 

He  began  in  a  very  low  but  very  penetrating 
voice,  and  I  don't  think  anybody  in  the  farthest 
corner  Bussed  a  single  clear-cut  syllable  from  the 
first.  As  I  may  have  indicated,  I  had  never  been 
a  warm  admirer  of  his,  but  with  all  my  prejudice, 
I  think  I  admired  him  when  he  stood  up  to  his 
task  that  day.  For  the  effect  he  intended,  his 
speech  was  a  masterpiece,  no  less.  I  saw  it  before 
he  had  finished  three  sentences.  And  he  deliver- 
ed it,  knowing  that  even  while  he  did  so  he  was 


HECTOR  197 

losing  the  woman  he  loved;  for  Hector  did  love 
Laura  Rainey,  next  to  himself,  and  she  had  been 
part  of  his  life  and  necessary  to  him.  But  though 
the  heavens  fell,  he  stuck  to  what  he  had  set  out 
to  do,  and  did  it  masterfully. 

Not  that  what  he  said  could  bear  the  analysis 
of  a  cool  mind:  nothing  that  Hector  ever  did  or 
said  has  been  able  to  do  that.  But  for  the  purpose, 
it  was  perfect.  For  once  he  began  at  the  begin- 
ning, without  rhetoric,  and  he  made  it  all  the 
more  effective  by  beginning  with  himself. 

"Doubtless  there  are  many  among  you  who 
think  it  strange  to  see  me  rise  to  fulfil  the  charge 
with  which  you  know  me  to  be  intrusted.  My 
oldest  and  most  intimate  friend  lies  wounded  on 
a  bed  of  suffering,  stricken  down  by  the  hand 
of  another  friend  whose  heart  is  in  the  cause 
for  which  I  have  risen.  Therefore,  you  might 
well  question  me;  you  might  well  say:  'To 
whom  is  your  loyalty?'  Well  might  I  ask  myself 
that  same  question.  And  I  will  give  you  my 
answer:  ' There  are  things  beyond  the  personal 
friendship  of  man  and  man,  things  greater  than 


198  IN  THE  ARENA 

individual  differences  and  individual  tragedies, 
things  as  far  higher  and  greater  than  these  as  the 
skies  of  God  are  higher  than  the  roof  of  a  child's 
doll-house.  These  higher  things  are  the  good  of 
the  State  and  the  Law  of  Justice ! ' ' 

That  brought  the  first  applause;  and  Trim- 
mer's people,  seeing  the  crowd  had  taken  Hec- 
tor's point,  sprang  to  their  feet  and  began  to 
cheer.  At  a  tense  moment,  such  as  this,  cheering 
is  often  hypnotic,  and  good  managers  know  how 
to  make  use  of  it  on  the  floor.  The  noise  grew 
thunderous,  and  when  it  subsided  Hector  was 
master  of  the  convention.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  I  saw  how  far  he  would  go  —  and  why.  I 
had  laughed  at  him  all  my  life,  but  now  I  be- 
lieved there  was  "something  in  him,"  as  they 
say.  The  Lord  knows  what,  but  it  was  there;  and 
as  I  looked  at  him  and  listened  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  world  was  at  his  feet. 

He  was  infinitely  daring,  yet  he  skirted  the 
cause  of  the  quarrel  with  perfect  tact:  "The  mis- 
interpretation of  a  few  careless  and  kindly  words, 
said  in  passing,  and  repeated,  with  garbling  ad- 


HECTOR  109 

ditions,  to  a  man  who  was  not  himself.  .  .  . 
The  brooding  of  a  mind  most  unhappily  beset 
with  alcohol.  ...  A  blow  resented  by  a  too 
devoted  but  too  violent  kinsman.  .  .  ." 

Then,  with  the  greatest  skill,  and  rather 
quietly,  he  passed  to  a  eulogium  of  Trimmer's 
public  career,  gradually  increasing  the  warmth 
of  his  praise  but  controlling  it  as  perfectly  as  he 
controlled  the  enthusiasm  and  excitement  which 
followed  each  of  his  points.  For  myself,  I  only 
looked  away  from  him  once,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Henderson  looking  sick. 

Hector  finished  with  a  great  stroke.  He  went 
back  to  the  original  theme.  "You  ask  me  where 
my  duty  lies!"  His  great  voice  rose  and  rang 
through  the  hall  magnificently:  "I  reply  --  'first 
to  my  State  and  her  needs'!  Is  that  answer 
enough  ?  If  it  be  necessary  that  I  should  answer 
for  my  personal  loyalty  to  one  man  or  another 
then  I  ask  you :  '  Shall  it  go  to  the  friend  who, 
without  cause,  struck  the  first  blow  ?  Shall  it  go 
to  that  other  friend  who  went  out  hot-headed 
and  struck  back  to  avenge  a  brother's  wrongs  ? 


200  IN  THE  ARENA 

Is  it  only  between  these  that  I  —  and  many  of 
you —  are  to  choose  to-day  ?  Is  there  not  a  third  ? ' 
I  tell  you  that  I  have  chosen,  and  that  my  loy- 
alty and  all  my  strength  are  devoted  to  that  other, 
to  that  man  who  has  suffered  most  of  all,  to  him 
who  received  a  blow  and  did  not  avenge  it,  be- 
cause in  his  greatness  he  knew  that  his  assailant 
knew  not  what  he  did!" 

That  carried  them  off  their  feet.  Hector  had 
turned  Trimmer's  greatest  danger  into  the  means 
of  victory.  The  Trimmer  people  led  one  of  those 
extraordinary  hysterical  processions  round  the 
aisles  that  you  see  sometimes  in  a  convention  (a 
thing  I  never  get  used  to),  and  it  was  all  Trim- 
mer, or  rather,  it  was  all  Hector.  Trimmer  was 
nominated  on  the  first  ballot. 

There  was  a  recess,  and  I  hurried  out,  mean- 
ing to  slip  round  to  Joe  Lane's  for  a  moment  to 
find  out  how  he  was.  I'd  seen  the  doctor  in  the 
morning  and  he  said  his  patient  had  passed  a 
good  night  and  that  Miss  Rainey  was  still  there. 
"I  think  she's  going  to  stay,"  he  added,  and 
smiled  and  shook  hands  with  me. 


HECTOR  SOI 

Joe's  old  darkey  cook  let  me  in,  and,  after  a 
moment,  came  to  say  I  might  go  into  Mr.  Lane's 
room;  Mr.  Lane  wanted  to  see  me. 

Joe  was  lying  very  flat  on  his  back,  but  with 
his  face  turned  toward  the  door,  and  beside  him 
sat  Laura  Rainey,  their  thin  hands  clasped 
together.  I  stopped  on  the  threshold  with  the 
door  half  opened. 

"Come  in,"  said  Joe  weakly.  "Hector  made 
it,  I'm  sure." 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  and  in  earnest.  "He's  a 
great  man." 

Joe's  face  quivered  with  a  pain  that  did  not 
come  from  his  hurt.  "Oh,  it's  knowing  that, 
that  makes  me  feel  like  such  a  scoundrel," 
he  said.  "I  suppose  you've  come  to  congrat- 
ulate me." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "the  doctor  says  it's  a  wonder- 
ful case,  and  that  you're  one  of  the  lucky  ones 
with  a  charmed  life,  thank  God!" 

Joe  smiled  sadly  at  Miss  Rainey.  "He  hasn't 
heard,"  he  said.  Then  she  gave  me  her  left  hand, 
not  relinquishing  Joe's  with  her  right. 


202  IN  THE  ARENA 

uWe  were  married  this  morning/'  she  said, 
"just  after  the  convention  began." 

The  tears  came  into  Joe's  eyes  as  she  spoke. 
"It's  a  shame,  isn't  it?"  he  said  to  me.  "You 
must  see  it  so.  And  I  the  kind  of  man  I  am,  the 
town  drunkard  — " 

Then  his  wife  leaned  over  and  kissed  his 
forehead. 

"  Even  so  it  was  right  —  and  so  beautiful  for 
me,"  she  said. 


PART  TWO 


MRS.  PROTHEROE 


W  HEN  Alonzo  Rawson  took  his  seat  as  the 
Senator  from  Stackpole  in  the  upper  branch  of 
the  General  Assembly  of  the  State,  an  expression 
of  pleasure  and  of  greatness  appeared  to  be 
permanently  imprinted  upon  his  countenance. 
He  felt  that  if  he  had  not  quite  arrived  at  all 
which  he  meant  to  make  his  own,  at  least  he 
had  emerged  upon  the  arena  where  he  was  to 
win  it,  and  he  looked  about  him  for  a  few  other 
strong  spirits  with  whom  to  construct  a  focus  of 
power  which  should  control  the  senate.  The 
young  man  had  not  long  to  look,  for  within  a 
week  after  the  beginning  of  the  session  these 
others  showed  themselves  to  his  view,  rising 
above  the  general  level  of  mediocrity  and  tim- 
idity, party-leaders  and  chiefs  of  faction,  men 
who  were  on  their  feet  continually,  speaking 
half-a-dozen  times  a  day,  freely  and  loudly.  To 


20? 


208  IN  THE  ARENA 

these,  and  that  house  at  large,  he  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  introduce  himself  by  a  speech  which  must 
prove  him  one  of  the  elect,  and  he  awaited  im- 
patiently an  opening. 

Alonzo  had  no  timidity  himself.  He  was  not 
one  of  those  who  first  try  their  voices  on  motions 
to  adjourn,  written  in  form  and  handed  out  to 
novices  by  presiding  officers  and  leaders.  He  was 
too  conscious  of  his  own  gifts,  and  he  had  been 
"accustomed  to  speaking"  ever  since  his  days 
in  the  Stackpole  City  Seminary.  He  was  under 
the  impression,  also,  that  his  appearance  alone 
would  command  attention  from  his  colleagues 
and  the  gallery.  He  was  tall;  his  hair  was  long, 
with  a  rich  waviness,  rippling  over  both  brow  and 
collar,  and  he  had,  by  years  of  endeavour,  suc- 
ceeded in  moulding  his  features  to  present  an 
aspect  of  stern  and  thoughtful  majesty  when- 
ever he  "spoke." 

The  opportunity  to  show  his  fellows  that  new 
greatness  was  among  them  delayed  not  over- 
long,  and  Senator  Rawson  arose,  long  and  bony 
in  his  best  clothes,  to  address  the  senate  with  a 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  209 

huge  voice  in  denunciation  of  the  "  Sunday  Base- 
ball Bill,"  then  upon  second  reading.  The  classi- 
cal references,  which,  as  a  born  orator,  he  felt  it 
necessary  to  introduce,  were  received  with  ac- 
clamations which  the  gavel  of  the  Lieutenant- 
Go  vernor  had  no  power  to  still. 

"What  led  to  the  De-cline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  await  an 
answer  from  the  advocates  of  this  ^-generate 
measure!  I  demand  an  answer  from  them!  Let 
me  hear  from  them  on  that  subject!  Why  don't 
they  speak  up  ?  They  can't  give  one.  Not  because 
they  ain't  familiar  with  history,  no  sir!  That's 
not  the  reason!  It's  because  they  daren't,  because 
their  answer  would  have  to  go  on  record  against 
'em!  Don't  any  of  you  try  to  raise  it  against  me 
that  I  ain't  speakin'  to  the  point,  for  I  tell  you 
that  when  you  encourage  Sunday  Baseball,  or 
any  kind  of  Sabbath-breakin'  on  Sunday,  you're 
tryin'  to  start  this  State  on  the  downward  path 
that  beset  Rome!  Til  tell  you  what  ruined  it.  The 
Roman  Empire  started  out  to  be  the  greatest 
nation  on  earth,  and  they  had  a  good  start,  too, 


210  IN  TIIS  ARENA 

just  like  the  United  States  has  got  to-day.  Then 
what  happened  to  'em?  Why,  them  old  ancient 
fellers  got  more  interested  in  athletic  games  and 
gladiatorial  combats  and  racing  and  all  kinds  of 
out-door  sports,  and  bettin'  on  'em,  than  they 
were  in  oratory,  or  literature,  or  charitable  insti- 
tutions and  good  works  of  all  kinds !  At  first  they 
were  moderate  and  the  country  was  prosperous. 
But  six  days  in  the  week  wouldn't  content  'em, 
and  they  went  at  it  all  the  time,  so  that  at  last 
they  gave  up  the  seventh  day  to  their  sports,  the 
way  this  bill  wants  us  to  do,  and  from  that  time 
on  the  result  was  cfe-generacy  and  degradation! 
You  better  remember  that  lesson,  my  friends, 
and  don't  try  to  sink  this  State  to  the  level  of 
Rome!" 

When  Alonzo  Rawson  wiped  his  dampened 
brow,  and  dropped  into  his  chair,  he  was  satis- 
fied to  the  core  of  his  heart  with  the  effect  of  his 
maiden  effort.  There  was  not  one  eye  in  the  place 
that  was  not  fixed  upon  him  and  shining  with 
surprise  and  delight,  while  the  kindly  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  his  face  very  red,  rapped  for  order. 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  211 

The  young  senator  across  the  aisle  leaned  over 
and  shook  Alonzo's  hand  excitedly. 

'That  was  beautiful,  Senator  Rawson!"  he 
whispered.  "I'm  for  the  bill,  but  I  can  respect  a 
masterly  opponent." 

"I  thank  you,  Senator  Truslow,"  Alonzo  re- 
turned graciously.  "  I  am  glad  to  have  your  good 
opinion,  Senator." 

'You  have  it,  Senator,"  said  Truslow  enthu- 
siastically. "I  hope  you  intend  to  speak  often?" 

"I  do,  Senator.  I  intend  to  make  myself 
heard,"  the  other  answered  gravely,  "upon  all 
questions  of  moment." 

'You  will  fill  a  great  place  among  us,  Sen- 
ator!" 

Then  Alonzo  Rawson  wondered  if  he  had 
not  underestimated  his  neighbour  across  the 
aisle;  he  had  formed  an  opinion  of  Truslow 
as  one  of  small  account  and  no  power,  for 
he  had  observed  that,  although  this  was  Trus- 
low's  second  term,  he  had  not  once  demanded 
recognition  nor  attempted  to  take  part  in  a  de- 
bate. Instead,  he  seemed  to  spend  most  of  his 


S12  IN  THE  ARENA 

time  frittering  over  some  desk  work,  though  now 
and  then  he  walked  up  and  down  the  aisles  talk- 
ing in  a  low  voice  to  various  senators.  How  such 
a  man  could  have  been  elected  at  all,  Alonzo 
failed  to  understand.  Also,  Truslow  was  physi- 
cally inconsequent,  in  his  colleague's  estimation 
— "a  little  insignificant,  dudish  kind  of  a  man," 
he  had  thought;  one  whom  he  would  have  darkly 
suspected  of  cigarettes  had  he  not  been  dumb- 
founded to  behold  Truslow  smoking  an  old  black 
pipe  in  the  lobby.  The  Senator  from  Stackpole 
had  looked  over  the  other's  clothes  with  a  dis- 
approval that  amounted  to  bitterness.  Truslow's 
attire  reminded  him  of  pictures  in  New  York 
magazines,  or  the  dress  of  boys  newly  home  from 
college,  he  didn't  know  which,  but  he  did  know 
that  it  was  contemptible.  Consequently,  after  re- 
ceiving the  young  man's  congratulations,  Alonzo 
was  conscious  of  the  keenest  surprise  at  his  own 
feeling  that  there  might  be  something  in  him 
after  all. 

He  decided  to  look  him  over  again,  more  care- 
fully to  take  the  measure  of  one  who  had  shown 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  213 

himself  so  frankly  an  admirer.  Waiting,  there- 
fore, a  few  moments  until  he  felt  sure  that  Trus- 
low's  gaze  had  ceased  to  rest  upon  himself,  he 
turned  to  bend  a  surreptitious  but  piercing  scru- 
tiny upon  his  neighbour.  His  glance,  however, 
sweeping  across  Truslow's  shoulder  toward  the 
face,  suddenly  encountered  another  pair  of  eyes 
beyond,  so  intently  fixed  upon  himself  that  he 
started.  The  clash  was  like  two  search-lights 
meeting  —  and  the  glorious  brown  eyes  that  shot 
into  Alonzo's  were  not  the  eyes  of  Truslow. 

Truslow's  desk  was  upon  the  outer  aisle,  and 
along  the  wall  were  placed  comfortable  leather 
chairs  and  settees,  originally  intended  for  the  use 
of  members  of  the  upper  house,  but  nearly  always 
occupied  by  their  wives  and  daughters,  or  "  lady- 
lobbyists,"  or  other  women  spectators.  Leaning 
back  with  extraordinary  grace,  in  the  chair  near- 
est Truslow,  sat  the  handsomest  woman  Alonzo 
had  ever  seen  in  his  life.  Her  long  coat  of  soft 
grey  fur  was  unrecognizable  to  him  in  connection 
with  any  familiar  breed  of  squirrel;  her  broad 
flat  hat  of  the  same  fur  was  wound  with  a  grey 


214  IN  THE  ARENA 

veilj  underneath  which  her  heavy  brown  hair 
seemed  to  exhale  a  mysterious  glow,  and  never, 
not  even  in  a  lithograph,  had  he  seen  features  so 
regular  or  a  skin  so  clear!  And  to  look  into  her 
eyes  seemed  to  Alonzo  like  diving  deep  into  clear 
water  and  turning  to  stare  up  at  the  light. 

His  own  eyes  fell  first.  In  the  breathless  awk- 
wardness that  beset  him  they  seemed  to  stumble 
shamefully  down  to  his  desk,  like  a  country-boy 
getting  back  to  his  seat  after  a  thrashing  on  the 
teacher's  platform.  For  the  lady's  gaze,  pro- 
foundly liquid  as  it  was,  had  not  been  friendly. 

Alonzo  Rawson  had  neither  the  habit  of  pet- 
ty analysis,  nor  the  inclination  toward  it;  yet 
there  arose  within  him  a  wonder  at  his  own  emo- 
tion, at  its  strangeness  and  the  violent  reaction 
of  it.  A  moment  ago  his  soul  had  been  steeped  in 
satisfaction  over  the  figure  he  had  cut  with  his 
speech  and  the  extreme  enthusiasm  which  had 
been  accorded  it  —  an  extraordinarily  pleasant 
feeling:  suddenly  this  was  gone,  and  in  its  place 
he  found  himself  almost  choking  with  a  dazed 
sense  of  having  been  scathed,  and  at  the  same 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  216 

time  understood  in  a  way  in  which  he  did  not 
understand  himself.  And  yet  —  he  and  this  most 
unusual  lady  had  been  so  mutually  conscious  of 
each  other  hi  their  mysterious  interchange  that 
he  felt  almost  acquainted  with  her.  Why,  then, 
should  his  head  be  hot  with  resentment  ?  Nobody 
had  said  anything  to  him ! 

He  seized  upon  the  fattest  of  the  expensive 
books  supplied  to  him  by  the  State,  opened  it 
with  emphasis  and  began  not  to  read  it,  with 
abysmal  abstraction,  tinglingly  alert  to  the  cir- 
cumstance that  Truslow  was  holding  a  low- 
toned  but  lively  conversation  with  the  unknown. 
Her  laugh  came  to  him,  at  once  musical,  quiet, 
and  of  a  quality  which  irritated  him  into  saying 
bitterly  to  himself  that  he  guessed  tkere  was  just 
as  much  refinement  in  Stackpole  as  there  was  in 
the  Capital  City,  and  just  as  many  old  families! 
The  clerk  calling  his  vote  upon  the  "Baseball 
Bill"  at  that  moment,  he  roared  "No!"  in  a  tone 
which  was  profane.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
avenging  himself  upon  somebody  for  something 
and  it  gave  him  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction. 


216  IN  THE  ARENA 

He  returned  immediately  to  his  imitation  of 
Archimedes,  only  relaxing  the  intensity  of  his 
attention  to  the  text  (which  blurred  into  jargon 
before  his  fixed  gaze)  when  he  heard  that  light 
laugh  again.  He  pursed  his  lips,  looked  up  at  the 
ceiling  as  if  slightly  puzzled  by  some  profound 
question  beyond  the  reach  of  womankind ;  solved 
it  almost  immediately,  and,  setting  his  hand  to 
pen  and  paper,  wrote  the  capital  letter  "O"  sev- 
eral hundred  times  on  note-paper  furnished  by 
the  State.  So  oblivious  was  he,  apparently,  to 
everything  but  the  question  of  statecraft  which 
occupied  him,  that  he  did  not  even  look  up  when 
the  morning's  session  was  adjourned  and  the  law- 
makers began  to  pass  noisily  out,  until  Truslow 
stretched  an  arm  across  the  aisle  and  touched  him 
upon  the  shoulder. 

"In  a  moment,  Senator!"  answered  Alonzo  in 
his  deepest  chest  tones.  He  made  it  a  very  short 
moment,  indeed,  for  he  had  a  wild,  breath-taking 
suspicion  of  what  was  coming. 

"  I  want  you  to  meet  Mrs.  Protheroe,  Senator," 
said  Truslow,  rising,  as  Rawson,  after  folding 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  «17 

his  writings  with  infinite  care,  placed  them  in  his 
breast  pocket. 

"I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
ma'am,"  Alonzo  said  in  a  loud,  firm  voice,  as  he 
got  to  his  feet,  though  the  place  grew  vague  about 
him  when  the  lady  stretched  a  charming,  slen- 
der, gloved  hand  to  him  across  Truslow's  desk. 
He  gave  it  several  solemn  shakes. 

"  We  shouldn't  have  disturbed  you,  perhaps  ?" 
she  asked,  smiling  radiantly  upon  him.  "You 
were  at  some  important  work,  I'm  afraid." 

He  met  her  eyes  again,  and  their  beauty  and 
the  thoughtful  kindliness  of  them  fairly  took  his 
breath.  "I  am  the  chairman,  ma'am,"  he  replied, 
swallowing,  "of  the  committee  on  drains  and 
dikes." 

"I  knew  it  was  something  of  great  moment," 
she  said  gravely,  "  but  I  was  anxious  to  tell  yow 
that  I  was  interested  in  your  speech." 

A  few  minutes  later,  without  knowing  how  he 
had  got  his  hat  and  coat  from  the  cloak-room, 
Alonzo  Rawson  found  himself  We  Iking  slowly 
through  the  marble  vistas  of  the  State  house  t* 


218  IN  THE  ARENA 

the  great  outer  doors  with  the  lady  and  Truslow. 
They  were  talking  inconsequently  of  the  weather, 
and  of  various  legislators,  but  Alonzo  did  not 
know  it.  He  vaguely  formed  replies  to  her  ques- 
tions and  he  hardly  realized  what  the  questions 
were;  he  was  too  stirringly  conscious  of  the  rich 
quiet  of  her  voice  and  of  the  caress  of  the  grey  fur 
of  her  cloak  when  the  back  of  his  hand  touched 
it  —  rather  accidentally  —  now  and  then,  as  they 
moved  on  together. 

It  was  a  cold,  quick  air  to  which  they  emerged 
and  Alonzo,  daring  to  look  at  her,  found  that 
she  had  pulled  the  veil  down  over  her  face,  the 
colour  of  which,  in  the  keen  wind,  was  like  that 
of  June  roses  seen  through  morning  mists.  At 
the  curb  a  long,  low,  rakish  black  motor-car  was 
in  waiting,  the  driver  a  mere  swaddled  cylinder 
of  fur. 

Truslow,  opening  the  little  door  of  the  ton- 
neau,  offered  his  hand  to  the  lady.  "Come  over 
to  the  club,  Senator,  and  lunch  with  me,"  he  said. 
"Mrs.  Protheroe  won't  mind  dropping  us  there 
on  her  way." 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  219 

That  was  an  eerie  ride  for  Alonzo,  whose  feet 
were  falling  upon  strange  places.  His  pulses 
jumped  and  his  eyes  swam  with  the  tears  of 
unlawful  speed,  but  his  big  ungloved  hand 
tingled  not  with  the  cold  so  much  as  with  the 
touch  of  that  divine  grey  fur  upon  his  little  finger. 
'You  intend  to  make  many  speeches,  Mr. 
Truslow  tells  me,"  he  heard  the  rich  voice  say- 
ing. 

'Yes  ma'am,"  he  summoned  himself  to  an- 
swer. "I  expect  I  will.  Yes  ma'am."  He  paused, 
and  then  repeated,  "Yes  ma'am." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  "But  you 
will  do  some  work,  too,  won't  you?"  she  asked 
slowly. 

Her  intention  in  this  passed  by  Alonzo  at  the 
time.  "Yes  ma'am,"  he  answered.  "The  com- 
mittee work  interests  me  greatly,  especially  drains 
and  dikes." 

"I  have  heard,"  she  said,  as  if  searching  his 
opinion,  "that  almost  as  much  is  accomplished 
in  the  committee-rooms  as  on  the  floor  ?  There  — 
and  in  the  lobby  and  in  the  hotels  and  clubs  ?" 


Oe<>  IN  THE  ARENA 

"I  don't  have  much  to  do  with  that!"  he  re- 
turned quickly.  "I  guess  none  of  them  lobbyists 
will  get  much  out  of  me !  I  even  sent  back  all  their 
railroad  tickets.  They  needn't  come  near  me!" 

After  a  pause  which  she  may  have  filled  with 
unexpressed  admiration,  she  ventured,  almost 
timidly:  "Do  you  remember  that  it  was  said  that 
Napoleon  once  attributed  the  secret  of  his  power 
over  other  men  to  one  quality  ?" 

"I  am  an  admirer  of  Napoleon,"  returned  the 
Senator  from  Stackpole.  "I  admire  all  great 
men." 

"He  said  that  he  held  men  by  his  reserve." 

"It  can  be  done,"  observed  Alonzo,  and  stop- 
ped, feeling  that  it  was  more  reserved  to  add 
nothing  to  the  sentence. 

"But  I  suppose  that  such  a  policy,"  she  smiled 
upon  him  inquiringly,  "wouldn't  have  helped 
kim  much  with  women  ?  " 

"No,"  he  agreed  immediately.  "My  opinion 
is  that  a  man  ought  to  tell  a  good  woman  every- 
thing. What  is  more  sacred  than  — " 

The  car,  turning  a  corner  much  too  quickly, 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  821 

performed  a  gymnastic  squirm  about  an  unex- 
pected street-car  and  the  speech  ended  in  a  gasp, 
as  Alonzo,  not  of  his  own  volition,  half  rose  and 
pressed  his  cheek  closely  against  hers.  Instanta- 
neous as  it  was,  his  heart  leaped  violently,  but  not 
with  fear.  Could  all  the  things  of  his  life  that  had 
seemed  beautiful  have  been  compressed  into  one 
instant,  it  would  not  have  brought  him  even  the 
suggestion  of  the  wild  shock  of  joy  of  that  one, 
wherein  he  knew  the  glamorous  perfume  of  Mrs. 
Protheroe's  brown  hair  and  felt  her  cold  cheek 
firm  against  his,  with  only  the  grey  veil  between. 

"  I'm  afraid  this  driver  of  mine  will  kill  me 
some  day,"  she  said,  laughing  and  composedly 
straightening  her  hat.  "Do  you  care  for  big 
machines?" 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  he  answered  huskily.  "I  haven't 
been  in  many." 

"Then  I'll  take  you  again,"  said  Mrs.  Pro- 
theroe.  "  If  you  like  I'll  come  down  to  the  State 
house  and  take  you  out  for  a  run  in  the  country." 

"When?"  said  the  lost  young  man,  staring 
at  her  with  his  mouth  open.  "  When  ?" 


222  IN  THE  ARENA 

"  Saturday  afternoon  if  you  like.  I'll  be  there  at 
two." 

They  were  in  front  of  the  club  and  Truslow 
had  already  jumped  out.  Mrs.  Protheroe  gave 
him  her  hand  and  they  exchanged  a  glance  sig- 
nificant of  something  more  than  a  friendly  good- 
bye. Indeed,  one  might  have  hazarded  that  there 
was  something  almost  businesslike  about  it.  The 
confused  Senator  from  Stackpole,  climbing  out 
reluctantly,  observed  it  not,  nor  could  he  have 
understood,  even  if  he  had  seen,  that  delicate 
signal  which  passed  between  his  two  companions. 

When  he  was  upon  the  ground  Mrs.  Pro- 
theroe extended  her  hand  without  speaking,  but 
her  lips  formed  the  word,  "Saturday."  Then  she 
was  carried  away  quickly,  while  Alonzo,  his 
heart  hammering,  stood  looking  after  her,  born 
into  a  strange  world,  the  touch  of  the  grey  fur 
upon  his  little  finger,  the  odour  of  her  hair  faintly 
about  him,  one  side  of  his  face  red,  the  other  pale. 

"To-day  is  Wednesday,"  he  said,  half  aloud. 

"Come  on,  Senator."  Truslow  took  his  arm 
and  turned  him  toward  the  club  doors. 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  223 

The  other  looked  upon  his  new  friend  vaguely. 
"Why,  I  forgot  to  thank  her  for  the  ride,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"You'll  have  other  chances,  Senator,"  Trus- 
low  assured  him.  "Mrs.  Protheroe  has  a  hobby 
for  studying  politics  and  she  expects  to  come 
down  often.  She  has  plenty  of  time  —  she's  a 
widow,  you  know." 

"I  hope  you  didn't  think,"  responded  Alonzo 
indignantly,  "that  I  thought  she  was  a  married 
woman!" 

After  lunch  they  walked  back  to  the  State 
house  together,  Truslow  regarding  his  thought- 
ful companion  with  sidelong  whimsicalness.  Mrs. 
Protheroe' s  question,  suggestive  of  a  difference 
between  work  and  speechmaking,  had  recurred 
to  Alonzo,  and  he  had  determined  to  make  him- 
self felt,  off  the  floor  as  well  as  upon  it.  He  set  to 
this  with  a  fine  energy,  that  afternoon,  in  his 
committee-room,  and  the  Senator  from  Stack- 
pole  knew  his  subject.  On  drains  and  dikes  he 
had  no  equal.  He  spoke  convincingly  to  his  col- 
leagues of  the  committee  upon  every  bill  that 


224  IN  THE  ARENA 

was  before  them,  and  he  compelled  their  hum- 
blest respect.  He  went  earnestly  at  it,  indeed, 
and  sat  very  late  that  night,  in  his  room  at  a  near- 
by boarding  house,  studying  bills,  trying  to  keep 
his  mind  upon  them  and  not  to  think  of  his 
strange  morning  and  of  Saturday.  Finally  his 
neighbour  in  the  next  room,  Senator  Ezra  Trum- 
bull,  long  abed,  was  awakened  by  his  praying  and 
groaned  slightly.  Trumbull  meant  to  speak  to 
Rawson  about  his  prayers,  for  Trumbull  was  an 
early  one  to  bed  and  they  woke  him  every  night. 
The  partition  was  flimsy  and  Alonzo  addressed 
his  Maker  in  the  loud  voice  of  one  accustomed 
to  talking  across  wide  out-of-door  spaces.  Trum- 
bull considered  it  especially  unnecessary  in  the 
city ;  though,  as  a  citizen  of  a  county  which  loved 
but  little  his  neighbour's  district,  he  felt  that  in 
Stackpole  there  was  good  reason  for  a  person  to 
shout  his  prayers  at  the  top  of  his  voice  and  even 
then  have  small  chance  to  carry  through  the  dis- 
tance. Still,  it  was  a  delicate  matter  to  mention 
and  he  put  it  off  from  day  to  day. 

Thursday  passed  slowly  for  Alonzo  Rawson, 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  225 

nor  was  his  voice  lifted  in  debate.  There  was 
little  but  routine;  and  the  main  interest  of  the 
chamber  was  in  the  lobbying  that  was  being 
done  upon  the  "Sunday  Baseball  Bill"  which 
had  passed  to  its  third  reading  and  would  come 
up  for  final  disposition  within  a  fortnight.  This 
was  the  measure  which  Alonzo  had  set  his  heart 
upon  defeating.  It  was  a  simple  enough  bill:  it 
provided,  in  substance,  that  baseball  might  be 
played  on  Sunday  by  professionals  in  the  State 
capital,  which  was  proud  of  its  league  team. 
Naturally,  it  was  denounced  by  clergymen,  and 
deputations  of  ministers  and  committees  from 
women's  religious  societies  were  constantly  ar- 
riving at  the  State  house  to  protest  against  its 
passage.  The  Senator  from  Stackpole  reassured 
all  of  these  with  whom  he  talked,  and  was  one 
of  their  staunchest  allies  and  supporters.  He  was 
active  in  leading  the  wavering  among  his  col- 
leagues, or  even  the  inimical,  out  to  meet  and 
face  the  deputations.  It  was  in  this  occupation 
that  he  was  engaged,  on  Friday  afternoon,  when 
he  received  a  shock. 


226  IN  THE  ARENA 

A  committee  of  women  from  a  church  society 
was  waiting  in  the  corridor,  and  he  had  rounded- 
up  a  reluctant  half-dozen  senators  and  led  them 
forth  to  be  interrogated  as  to  their  intentions 
regarding  the  bill.  The  committee  and  the  law- 
makers soon  distributed  themselves  into  little 
argumentative  clumps,  and  Alonzo  found  him- 
self in  the  centre  of  these,  with  one  of  the  ladies 
who  had  unfortunately  -  -  but,  in  her  enthusiasm, 
without  misgivings  — -  begun  a  reproachful  ap- 
peal to  an  advocate  of  the  bill  whose  name  was 
Goldstein. 

"Senator  Goldstein,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  could 
not  believe  it  when  I  heard  that  you  were  in  favour 
of  this  measure !  I  have  heard  my  husband  speak 
in  the  highest  terms  of  your  old  father.  May  I  ask 
you  what  he  thinks  of  it?  If  you  voted  for  the 
desecration  of  Sunday  by  a  low  baseball  game, 
could  you  dare  go  home  and  face  that  good  old 
man?" 

'Yes,  madam,"  said  Goldstein  mildly;  "we 
are  both  Jews." 

A  low  laugh  rippled  out  from  near-by,  and 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  227 

Alonzo,  turning  almost  violently,  beheld  his  lady 
of  the  furs.  She  was  leaning  back  against  a  broad 
pilaster,  her  hands  sweeping  the  same  big  coat 
behind  her,  her  face  turned  toward  him,  but  her 
eyes,  sparklingly  delighted,  resting  upon  Gold- 
stein. Under  the  broad  fur  hat  she  made  a  pic- 
ture as  enraging,  to  Alonzo  Rawson,  as  it  was 
bewitching.  She  appeared  not  to  see  him,  to  be 
quite  unconscious  of  him  —  and  he  believed  it. 
Truslow  and  five  or  six  members  of  both  houses 
were  about  her,  and  they  all  seemed  to  be  bending 
eagerly  toward  her.  Alonzo  was  furious  with  her. 
Her  laugh  lingered  upon  the  air  for  a  moment, 
then  her  glance  swept  round  the  other  way, 
omitting  the  Senator  from  Stackpole,  who,  im- 
mediately putting  into  practice  a  reserve  which 
would  have  astonished  Napoleon,  swung  about 
and  quitted  the  deputation  without  a  word  of 
farewell  or  explanation.  He  turned  into  the  cloak- 
room and  paced  the  floor  for  three  minutes  with 
a  malevolence  which  awed  the  coloured  atten- 
dants into  not  brushing  his  coat;  but,  when  he 
returned  to  the  corridor,  cautious  inquiries  ad- 


228  IN  THE  ARENA 

dressed  to  the  tobacconist,  elicited  the  informa- 
tion that  the  handsome  lady  with  Senator  Trus- 
low  had  departed. 

Truslow  himself  had  riot  gone.  He  was  loung- 
ing in  his  seat  when  Alonzo  returned  and  was 
genially  talkative.  The  latter  refrained  from  re- 
plying in  kind,  not  altogether  out  of  reserve,  but 
more  because  of  a  dim  suspicion  (which  rose 
within  him,  the  third  time  Truslow  called  him 
"Senator"  in  one  sentence)  that  his  first  opin- 
ion of  the  young  man  as  a  light-minded  person 
might  have  been  correct. 

There  was  no  session  the  following  afternoon, 
but  Alonzo  watched  the  street  from  the  windows 
of  his  committee-room,  which  overlooked  the 
splendid  breadth  of  stone  steps  leading  down 
from  the  great  doors  to  the  pavement.  There 
were  some  big  bookcases  in  the  room,  whose 
glass  doors  served  as  mirrors  in  which  he  more 
and  more  sternly  regarded  the  soft  image  of  an 
entirely  new  grey  satin  tie,  while  the  conviction 
grew  within  him  that  (arguing  from  her  behaviour 
of  the  previous  day)  she  would  not  come,  and  that 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  2*0 

the  Stackpole  girls  were  nobler  by  far  at  heart 
than  many  who  might  wear  a  king's-ransom's- 
worth  of  jewels  round  their  throats  at  the  opera- 
house  in  a  large  city.  This  sentiment  was  heartily 
confirmed  by  the  clock  when  it  marked  half -past 
two.  He  faced  the  bookcase  doors  and  struck  his 
breast,  his  open  hand  falling  across  the  grey  tie 
with  tragic  violence ;  after  which,  turning  for  the 
last  time  to  the  windows,  he  uttered  a  loud  ex- 
clamation and,  laying  hands  upon  an  ulster  and 
a  grey  felt  hat,  each  as  new  as  the  satin  tie,  ran 
hurriedly  from  the  room.  The  black  automobile 
was  waiting. 

"  I  thought  it  possible  you  might  see  me  from 
a  window,"  said  Mrs.  Protheroe  as  he  opened 
the  little  door. 

"I  was  just  coming  out,"  he  returned, gasping 
for  breath.  "I  thought  —  from  yesterday  — 
you'd  probably  forgotten." 

"Why  'from  yesterday'  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  thought  —  I  thought  — "  He  faltered  to  a 
stop  as  the  full,  glorious  sense  of  her  presence 
overcame  him.  She  wore  the  same  veil. 


230  IN  THE  ARENA 

"You  thought  I  did  not  see  you  yesterday  in 
the  corridor?" 

"  I  thought  you  might  have  acted  more  — 


more  — " 


"More  cordially?" 

"Well,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  his  hands, 
"more  like  you  knew  we'd  been  introduced." 

At  that  she  sat  silent,  looking  away  from  him, 
and  he,  daring  a  quick  glance  at  her,  found 
that  he  might  let  his  eyes  remain  upon  her  face. 
That  was  a  dangerous  place  for  eyes  to  rest,  yet 
Alonzo  Rawson  was  anxious  for  the  risk.  The  car 
flew  along  the  even  asphalt  on  its  way  to  the  coun- 
try like  a  wild  goose  on  a  long  slant  of  wind,  and, 
with  his  foolish  fury  melted  inexplicably  into 
honey,  Alonzo  looked  at  her  —  and  looked  at 
her  —  till  he  would  have  given  an  arm  for 
another  quick  corner  and  a  street-car  to  send  his 
cheek  against  that  veiled,  cold  cheek  of  hers 
again.  It  was  not  until  they  reached  the  alter- 
nate vacant  lots  and  bleak  Queen  Anne  cottages 
of  the  city's  ragged  edge  that  she  broke  the  si- 
lence. 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  231 

'You  were  talking  to  some  one  else,"  slie  said 
almost  inaudibly. 

"Yes  ma'am,  Goldstein,  but  — " 

"Oh,  no!"  She  turned  toward  him,  lifting  her 
hand.  "You  were  quite  the  lion  among  ladies." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mrs.  Proth- 
eroe,"  he  said,  truthfully. 

"What  were  you  talking  to  all  those  women 
about?" 

"It  was  about  the  'Sunday  Baseball  Bill.'" 

"Ah!  The  bill  you  attacked  in  your  speech, 
last  Wednesday?" 

"Yes  ma'am." 

"I  hear  you  haven't  made  any  speeches  since 
then,"  she  said  indifferently. 

"No  ma'am,"  he  answered  gently.  "I  kind 
•f  got  the  idea  that  I'd  better  lay  low  for  a  while, 
at  first,  and  get  in  some  quiet  hard  work." 

"I  understand.  You  are  a  man  of  intensely  re- 
served nature." 

"With  men/'said  Alonzo,  "I  am.  With  ladies 
I  am  not  so  much  so.  I  think  a  good  woman 
ought  to  be  told—" 


*32  IN  THE  ARENA 

"  But  you  are  interested/'  she  interrupted,  "  in 
defeating  that  bill?" 

'Yes  ma'am,"  he  returned.  "It  is  an  in- 
iquitous measure." 

"Why?" 

"  Mrs.  Protheroe!"  he  exclaimed,  taken  aback. 
"  I  thought  all  the  ladies  were  against  it.  My  own 
mother  wrote  to  me  from  Stackpole  that  she'd 
rather  see  me  in  my  grave  than  votin'  for  such  a 
bill,  and  I'd  rather  see  myself  there!" 

"But  are  you  sure  that  you  understand  it  ?" 

"I  only  know  it  desecrates  the  Sabbath.  That's 
enough  for  me!" 

She  leaned  toward  him  and  his  breath  came 
quickly. 

"No.  You're  wrong,"  she  said,  and  rested  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  upon  his  sleeve. 

"I  don't  understand  why  —  why  you  say 
that,"  he  faltered.  "It  sounds  kind  of  —  sur- 
prising to  me  — " 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  Mr.  Truslow 
told  you  that  I  am  studying  such  things.  I  do 
not  want  to  be  an  idle  woman;  I  want  to  be  of  use 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  *&3 

to  the  world,  eren  if  it  must  be  only  in  small 
ways." 

"I  think  that  is  a  noble  ambition!"  te  ex- 
claimed. "I  think  all  good  women  ought  — 

"Wait,"  she  interrupted  gently.  "Now,  that 
bill  is  a  worthy  one,  though  it  astonishes  you  to 
hear  me  say  so.  Perhaps  you  don't  understand 
the  conditions.  Sunday  is  the  labouring-man's 
only  day  of  recreation  —  and  what  recreation  is 
he  offered?" 

"He  ought  to  go  to  church,"  said  Alonzo 
promptly. 

"But  the  fact  is  that  he  doesn't  —  not  often  — 
not  at  all  in  the  afternoon.  Wouldn't  it  be  well 
to  give  him  some  wholesome  way  of  employing 
his  Sunday  afternoons  ?  This  bill  provides  for 
just  that,  and  it  keeps  him  away  from  drinking 
too,  for  it  forbids  the  sale  of  liquor  on  the 
grounds." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Alonzo  plaintively.  "But 
it  ain't  right!  I  was  raised  to  respect  the  Sabbath 
and  — " 

"Ah,  that's  what  you  should  do!  You  tkink  / 


234  IN  THE  ARENA 

could  believe  in  anything  that  wouldn't  make  it 
better  and  more  sacred  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am!"  he  cried  reproachfully. 
"It's  only  that  I  lon't  see  — " 

"I  am  telling  you."  She  lifted  her  veil  and  let 
him  have  the  full  dazzle  of  her  beauty.  "Do  you 
know  that  many  thousands  of  labouring  people 
spend  their  Sundays  drinking  and  carousing 
about  the  low  country  road-houses  because  the 
game  is  played  at  such  places  on  Sunday  ?  They 
go  there  because  they  never  get  a  chance  to  see  it 
played  in  the  city.  And  don't  you  understand  that 
there  would  be  no  Sunday  liquor  trade,  no  work- 
ing-men poisoning  themselves  every  seventh  day 
in  the  low  groggeries,  as  hundreds  of  them  do 
now,  if  they  had  something  to  see  that  would 
interest  them  ?  —  something  as  wholesome  and 
fine  as  this  sport  would  be,  under  the  conditions 
of  this  bill;  something  to  keep  them  in  the  open 
air,  something  to  bring  a  little  gaiety  into  their 
dull  lives!"  Her  voice  had  grown  louder  and  it 
shook  a  little,  with  a  rising  emotion,  though  its 
sweetness  was  only  the  more  poignant.  "  Oh,  my 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  235 

dear  Senator,"  she  cried,  "don't  you  see  how 
wrong  you  are?  Don't  you  want  to  help  these 
poor  people?" 

Her  fingers,  which  had  tightened  upon  his 
sleeve,  relaxed  and  she  leaned  back,  pulling  the 
veil  down  over  her  face  as  if  wishing  to  conceal 
from  him  that  her  lips  trembled  slightly;  then  rest- 
ing her  arm  upon  the  leather  cushions,  she  turned 
her  head  away  from  him,  staring  fixedly  into  the 
gaunt  beech  woods  lining  the  country  road 
along  which  they  were  now  coursing.  For  a  time 
she  heard  nothing  from  him,  and  the  only 
sound  was  the  monotonous  chug  of  the  machine. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it  rather  shocking  to  hear 
a  woman  talking  practically  of  such  common- 
place things,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  cold  voice, 
just  loud  enough  to  be  heard. 

"  No  ma'am, "  he  said  huskily. 

:<  Then  what  do  you  think  ?  "  she  cried,  turning 
toward  him  again  with  a  quick  imperious  gesture. 

"  I  think  I'd  better  go  back  to  Stackpole,"  he  an- 
swered very  slowly,  "  and  resign  my  job.  I  don't 
see  as  I've  got  any^business  in  the  Legislature. " 


236  IN  THE  ARENA 

"  I  don't  understand  you. " 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  It's  a  simple 
enough  matter.  I've  studied  out  a  good  many  bills 
and  talked  'em  over  and  I've  picked  up  some  in- 
fluence and  — 

"I  know  you  have."  she  interrupted  eagerly. 
"Mr.  Truslow  says  that  the  members  of  your 
drains  and  dikes  committee  follow  your  vote  on 
every  bill. " 

'Yes  ma'am,"  said  Alonzo  Rawson  meekly, 
"but  I  expect  they  oughtn't  to.  I've  had  a  lesson 
this  afternoon." 

"You  mean  to  say  - 

"I  mean  that  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing 
about  that  baseball  bill.  I  was  just  pig-headedly 
goin'  ahead  against  it,  not  knowing  nothing  about 
the  conditions,  and  it  took  a  lady  to  show  me 
what  they  were.  I  would  have  done  a  wrong 
thing  if  you  hadn't  stopped  me. " 

'You  mean,"  she  cried,  her  splendid  eyes 
widening  with  excitement  and  delight;  "you 
mean  that  you  -  -  that  you  - 

"I  mean  that  I  will  vote  for  the  bill!"  He 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  237 

struck  his  clenched  fist  upon  his  knee.  "  I  come  to 
the  Legislature  to  do  right!" 

'You  will,  ah,  you  will  do  right  in  this!"  Mrs. 
Protheroe  thrust  up  her  veil  again  and  her  face 
was  flushed  and  radiant  with  triumph.  "And 
you'll  work,  and  you'll  make  a  speech  for  the 
bill?" 

At  this  the  righteous  exaltation  began  rather 
abruptly  to  simmer  down  in  the  soul  of  Alonzo 
Rawson.  He  saw  the  consequences  of  too  violent- 
ly reversing,  and  knew  how  difficult  they  might 
be  to  face. 

"Well,  not — not  exactly,"  he  said  weakly. 
"I  expect  our  best  plan  would  be  for  me  to 
lay  kind  of  low  and  not  say  any  more  about 
the  bill  at  all.  Of  course,  I'll  quit  workin' 
against  it;  and  on  the  roll-call  I'll  edge  up 
close  to  the  clerk  and  say  'Aye'  so  that  only 
him'll  hear  me.  That's  done  every  day  —  and 
I  —  well,  I  don't  just  exactly  like  to  come  out 
too  publicly  for  it,  after  my  speech  and  all  I've 
done  against  it." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply  for  a  short  second, 


238  IN  THE  ARENA 

and  then  offered  him  her  hand  and  said :  "  Let's 
shake  hands  now,  on  the  vote.  Think  what  a 
triumph  it  is  for  me  to  know  that  I  helped  to 
show  you  the  right." 

"Yes  ma'am,"  he  answered  confusedly,  too 
much  occupied  with  shaking  her  hand  to  know 
what  he  said.  She  spoke  one  word  in  an  under- 
tone to  the  driver  and  the  machine  took  the 
very  shortest  way  back  to  the  city. 

After  this  excursion,  several  days  passed,  before 
Mrs.  Protheroe  came  to  the  State  house  again. 
Rawson  was  bending  over  the  desk  of  Senator 
Josephus  Battle,  the  white-bearded  leader  of 
the  opposition  to  the  "Sunday  Baseball  Bill," 
and  was  explaining  to  him  the  intricacies  of  a 
certain  drainage  measure,  when  Battle,  whose 
attention  had  wandered,  plucked  his  sleeve  and 
whispered : 

"If  you  want  to  see  a  mighty  pretty  woman 
that's  doin'  no  good  here,  look  behind  you,  over 
there  in  the  chair  by  the  big  fireplace  at  the  back 
of  the  room. " 

Alonzo  looked. 


MRS.  PROTHEKOE  239 

It  was  she  whose  counterpart  had  been  in  his 
dream's  eye  every  moment  of  the  dragging  days 
which  had  been  vacant  of  her  living  presence. 
A  number  of  his  colleagues  were  hanging  over 
her  almost  idiotically;  her  face  was  gay  and  her 
voice  came  to  his  ears,  as  he  turned,  with  the 
accent  of  her  cadenced  laughter  running  through 
her  talk  like  a  chime  of  tiny  bells  flitting  through 
a  strain  of  music. 

"This  is  the  third  time  she's  been  here,"  said 
Battle,  rubbing  his  beard  the  wrong  way.  "  She's 
lobbyin'  for  that  infernal  Sabbath-Desecration 
bill,  but  we'll  beat  her,  my  son. " 

"  Have  you  made  her  acquaintance,  Senator  ? ' 
^sked  Alonzo  stiffly. 

"No,  sir,  and  I  don't  want  to.  But  I  knew  hei 
father  —  the  slickest  old  beat  and  the  smoothesl 
talker  that  ever  waltzed  up  the  pike.  She  married 
rich;  her  husband  left  her  a  lot  of  real  estate 
around  here,  but  she  spends  most  of  her  time 
away.  Whatever  struck  her  to  come  down  and 
lobby  for  that  bill  I  don't  know  yet  —  but  I 
will)  Truslow's  helping  her  to  help  himself;  he's 


240  IN  THE  ARENA 

got  stock  in  the  company  that  runs  the  baseball 
team,  but  what  she's  up  to  --  well,  I'll  bet  there'a 
a  nigger  in  the  woodpile  somewhere!" 

"I  expect  there's  a  lot  of  talk  like  that!"  said 
Alonzo,  red  with  anger,  and  taking  up  his  papers 
abruptly. 

'Yes,  sir!"  said  Battle  emphatically,  utterly 
misunderstanding  the  other's  tone  and  manner. 
"Don't  you  worry,  my  son.  We'll  kill  that  ven- 
omous bill  right  here  in  this  chamber!  We'll  kill 
it  so  dead  that  it  won't  make  one  flop  after  the  axe 
hits  it.  You  and  me  and  some  others'll  tend  to 
that !  Let  her  work  that  pretty  face  and  those  eyes 
of  hers  all  she  wants  to!  I'm  keepin'  a  little  look- 
out, too —  and  I'll--  " 

He  broke  off,  for  the  angry  and  perturbed 
Alonzo  had  left  him  and  gone  to  his  own  desk. 
Battle,  slightly  surprised,  rubbed  his  beard  the 
wrong  way  and  sauntered  out  to  the  lobby  to 
muse  over  a  cigar.  Alonzo,  loathing  Battle  with  a 
great  loathing,  formed  bitter  phrases  concerning 
that  vicious-minded  old  gentleman,  while  for  a 
moment  he  affected  to  be  setting  his  desk  in  or~ 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  241 

der.  Then  he  walked  slowly  up  the  aisle,  con- 
scious of  a  roaring  in  his  ears  (though  not  aware 
how  red  they  were)  as  he  approached  the  semi- 
circle about  her. 

He  paused  within  three  feet  of  her  in  a  sudden 
panic  of  timidity,  and  then,  to  his  consternation, 
she  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face,  over  the 
shoulders  of  two  of  the  group,  and  the  only  sign 
of  recognition  that  she  exhibited  was  a  slight 
frown  of  unmistakable  repulsion,  which  appeared 
between  her  handsome  eyebrows. 

It  was  very  swift ;  only  Alonzo  saw  it ;  the  others 
had  no  eyes  for  anything  but  her,  and  were  not 
aware  of  his  presence  behind  them,  for  she  did 
not  even  pause  in  what  she  was  saying. 

Alonzo  walked  slowly  away  with  the  worm- 
wood in  his  heart.  He  had  not  grown  up  among 
the  young  people  of  Stackpole  without  similar 
experiences,  but  it  had  been  his  youthful  boast 
that  no  girl  had  ever  "stopped  speaking"  to 
him  without  reason,  or  "cut  a  dance"  with  him 
and  afterward  found  opportunity  to  repeat  the 
indignity. 


242  IN  THE  ARENA 

'*  What  kave  I  done  to  her  ?  "  was  perhaps  the 
hottest  cry  of  his  soul,  for  the  mystery  was  as 
great  as  the  sting  of  it. 

It  was  no  balm  upon  that  sting  to  see  her  pass 
him  at  the  top  of  the  outer  steps,  half  an  hour  later, 
on  the  arm  of  that  one  of  his  colleagues  who  had 
been  called  the  "best-dressed  man  in  the  Legis- 
lature. "  She  swept  by  him  without  a  sign,  laugh- 
ing that  same  laugh  at  some  sally  of  her  escort, 
and  they  got  into  the  black  automobile  together 
and  were  whirled  away  and  out  of  sight  by  the 
impassive  bundle  of  furs  that  manipulated  the 
wheel. 

For  the  rest  of  that  afternoon  and  the  whole  of 
that  night  no  man,  woman,  or  child  heard  the 
voice  of  Alonzo  Rawson,  for  he  spoke  to  none. 
He  came  not  to  the  evening  meal,  nor  was  he  seen 
by  any  who  had  his  acquaintance.  He  entered  his 
room  at  about  midnight,  and  Trumbull  was 
awakened  by  his  neighbour's  overturning  a  chair. 
No  match  was  struck,  however,  and  Trumbull 
was  relieved  to  think  that  the  Senator  from  Stack- 
pole  intended  going  directly  to  bed  without 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  243 

troubling  to  light  the  gas,  and  that  his  prayers 
would  soon  be  over.  Such  was  not  the  case,  for  no 
other  sound  came  from  the  room,  nor  were  Al- 
onzo's  prayers  uttered  that  night,  though  the  un- 
happy statesman  in  the  next  apartment  could  not 
get  to  sleep  for  several  hours  on  account  of  his 
nervous  expectancy  of  them. 

After  this,  as  the  day  approached  upon  which 
hung  the  fate  of  the  bill  which  Mr.  Josephus 
Battle  was  fighting,  Mrs.  Protheroe  came  to  the 
Senate  Chamber  nearly  every  morning  and  after- 
noon. Not  once  did  she  appear  to  be  conscious  of 
Alonzo  Rawson's  presence,  nor  once  did  he  allow 
his  eyes  to  delay  upon  her,  though  it  cannot  be 
truthfully  said  that  he  did  not  always  know  when 
she  came,  when  she  left,  and  with  whom  she  stood 
or  sat  or  talked.  He  evaded  all  mention  or  discus- 
sion of  the  bill  or  of  Mrs.  Protheroe ;  avoided  Trus- 
low  (who,  strangely  enough,  was  avoiding  him) 
and,  spending  upon  drains  and  dikes  all  the  energy 
that  he  could  manage  to  concentrate,  burned  the 
midnight  oil  and  rubbed  salt  into  his  wounds  to 
such  marked  effect  that  by  the  evening  of  the 


S44  IN  THE  ARENA 

Governor's  Reception -- upon  the  morning  fol- 
lowing which  the  mooted  bill  was  to  come  up  — 
he  offered  an  impression  so  haggard  and  worn 
that  an  actor  might  have  studied  him  for  a  make- 
up as  a  young  statesman  going  into  a  decline. 

Nevertheless,  he  dressed  with  great  care  and 
bitterness,  and  placed  the  fragrant  blossom  of  a 
geranium  —  taken  from  a  plant  belonging  to  his 
landlady  —  in  the  lapel  of  his  long  coat  before  he 
set  out. 

And  yet,  when  he  came  down  the  Governor's 
broad  stairs,  and  wandered  through  the  big 
rooms,  with  the  glare  of  lights  above  him  and 
the  shouting  of  the  guests  ringing  in  his  ears,  a 
sense  of  emptiness  beset  him;  the  crowded  place 
seemed  vacant  and  without  meaning.  Even  the 
noise  sounded  hollow  and  remote  —  and  why  had 
he  bothered  about  the  geranium?  He  hated  her 
and  would  never  look  at  her  again  —  but  why 
was  she  not  there  ? 

By-and-by,  he  found  himself  standing  against 
a  wall,  where  he  had  been  pushed  by  the  press  of 
people.  He  was  wondering  drearily  what  he 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  £45 

was  to  do  with  a  clean  plate  and  a  napkin 
which  a  courteous  negro  had  handed  him,  half- 
an-hour  earlier,  when  he  felt  a  quick  jerk  at 
his  sleeve.  It  was  Truslow,  who  had  worked 
his  way  along  the  wall  and  who  now,  standing 
on  tiptoe,  spoke  rapidly  but  cautiously,  close  to 
his  ear. 

"Senator,  be  quick,"  he  said  sharply,  at  the 
same  time  alert  to  see  that  they  were  unobserved. 
"  Mrs.  Protheroe  wants  to  speak  to  you  at  once. 
You'll  find  her  near  the  big  palms  under  the 
stairway  in  the  hall. " 

He  was  gone  --he  had  wormed  his  way  half 
across  the  room  --  before  the  other,  in  his  simple 
amazement  could  answer.  When  Alonzo  at  last 
found  a  word,  it  was  only  a  monosyllable,  which, 
with  his  accompanying  action,  left  a  matron  of 
years,  who  was  at  that  moment  being  pressed 
fondly  to  his  side,  in  a  state  of  mind  almost  as 
dumbfounded  as  his  own.  "Here!9'  was  all  he 
said  as  he  pressed  the  plate  and  napkin  into  her 
hand  and  departed  forcibly  for  the  hall,  leaving  a 
spectacular  wreckage  of  trains  behind  him. 


£46  IN  THE  ARENA 

The  upward  flight  of  the  stairway  left  a  space 
underneath,  upon  which,  as  it  was  screened  (save 
for  a  narrow  entrance)  by  a  thicket  of  palms,  the 
crowd  had  not  encroached.  Here  were  placed  a 
divan  and  a  couple  of  chairs;  there  was  shade 
from  the  glare  of  gas,  and  the  light  was  dim  and 
cool.  Mrs.  Protheroe  had  risen  from  the  divan 
when  Alonzo  entered  this  grotto,  and  stood  wait- 
ing for  him. 

He  stopped  in  the  green  entrance-way  with 
a  quick  exclamation. 

She  did  not  seem  the  same  woman  who  had 
put  such  slights  upon  him,  this  tall,  white  vision 
of  silk,  with  the  summery  scarf  falling  from  her 
shoulders.  His  great  wrath  melted  at  the  sight  of 
her;  the  pain  of  his  racked  pride,  which  had  been 
so  hot  in  his  breast,  gave  way  to  a  species  of  fear. 
She  seemed  not  a  human  being,  but  a  bright  spirit 
of  beauty  and  goodness  who  stood  before  him, 
extending  two  fine  arms  to  him  in  long,  white 
gloves. 

She  left  him  to  his  trance  for  a  moment,  then 
seized  both  his  hands  in  hers  and  cried  to  him 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  247 

in  her  rapturous,  low  voice:  "Ah,  Senator,  you 
have  come!  I  knew  you  understood!" 

"Yes  ma'am,"  he  whispered  chokily. 

She  drew  him  to  one  of  the  chairs  and  sank 
gracefully  down  upon  the  divan  near  him. 

"Mr.  Truslow  was  so  afraid  you  wouldn't," 
she  went  on  rapidly,  "but  I  was  sure.  You  see  I 
didn't  want  anybody  to  suspect  that  I  had 
any  influence  with  you.  I  didn't  want  them  to 
know,  even,  that  I'd  talked  to  you.  It  all  came  to 
me  after  the  first  day  that  we  met.  You  see  I've 
believed  in  you,  in  your  power  and  in  your  re- 
serve, from  the  first.  I  want  all  that  you  do  to  seem 
to  come  from  yourself  and  not  from  me  or  any 
one  else.  Oh,  I  believe  in  great,  strong  men  who 
stand  upon  their  own  feet  and  conquer  the  world 
for  themselves!  That's  your  way,  Senator  Raw- 
son.  So,  you  see,  as  they  think  I'm  lobbying  for 
the  bill,  I  wanted  them  to  believe  that  your  speech 
for  it  to-morrow  comes  from  your  own  great, 
strong  mind  and  heart  and  your  sense  of  right, 
and  not  from  any  suggestion  of  mine. " 

"My  speech!"  he  stammered. 


248  IN  THE  ARENA 

"  Oh,  I  know, "  she  cried ;  "  I  know  you  think  1 
don't  believe  much  in  speeches,  and  I  don't  or- 
dinarily, but  a  few,  simple,  straightforward  and 
vigorous  words  from  you,  to-morrow,  may  carry 
the  bill  through.  You've  made  such  progress, 
you've  been  so  reserved,  that  you'll  carry  great 
weight  —  and  there  are  three  votes  of  the  drains 
and  dikes  that  are  against  us  now,  but  will  fol- 
low yours  absolutely.  Do  you  think  I  would  have 
'cut'  you  if  it  hadn't  been  best  ?" 

"But  I--" 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  didn't  actually  promise  me 
to  speak,  that  day.  But  I  knew  you  would  when 
the  time  came !  I  knew  that  a  man  of  power  goes 
over  all  obstacles,  once  his  sense  of  right  is  arous- 
ed !  I  knew  —  I  never  doubted  it,  that  once  you 
felt  a  thing  to  be  right  you  would  strike  for  it, 
with  all  your  great  strength  —  at  all  costs  —  at 
all--" 

"I    can't  —  I  —  I  — can't!"    he    whispered 

nervously.  "  Don't  you  see  —  don't  you  see  — 
j " 

She  leaned  toward  him,  lifting  her  face  close  to 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  249 

his.  She  was  so  near  him  that  the  faint  odour  of  her 
hair  came  to  him  again,  and  once  more  the  un- 
fortunate Senator  from  Stackpole  risked  a  meet- 
ing of  his  eyes  with  hers,  and  saw  the  light  shin- 
ing far  down  in  their  depths. 

At  this  moment  the  shadow  of  a  portly  man 
who  was  stroking  his  beard  the  wrong  way 
projected  itself  upon  them  from  the  narrow, 
green  entrance  to  the  grotto.  Neither  of  them 
perceived  it. 

Senator  Josephus  Battle  passed  on,  but  when 
Alonzo  Rawson  emerged,  a  few  moments  later,  he 
was  pledged  to  utter  a  few  simple,  straightfor- 
ward and  vigorous  words  in  favour  of  the  bill.  And 
• —  let  the  shame  fall  upon  the  head  of  the  scribe 
who  tells  it  —  he  had  kissed  Mrs.  Protheroe! 

The  fight  upon  the  "Sunday  Baseball  Bill," 
the  next  morning,  was  the  warmest  of  that  part 
of  the  session,  though  for  a  while  the  reporters 
were  disappointed.  They  were  waiting  for  Sena- 
tor Battle,  who  was  famous  among  them  for  the 
vituperative  vigour  of  his  attacks  and  for  the  kind 


250  IN  THE  ARENA 

of  personalities  which  made  valuable  copy.  And 
yet,  until  the  debate  was  almost  over,  he  content- 
ed himself  with  going  quietly  up  and  down 
the  aisles,  whispering  to  the  occupants  of  the 
desks,  and  writing  and  sending  a  multitude  of 
notes  to  his  colleagues.  Meanwhile,  the  orators 
upon  both  sides  harangued  their  fellows,  the 
lobby,  the  unpolitical  audience,  and  the  patient 
presiding  officer  to  no  effect,  so  far  as  votes  went. 
The  general  impression  was  that  the  bill  would 
pass. 

Alonzo  Rawson  sat,  bent  over  his  desk,  his 
eyes  fixed  with  gentle  steadiness  upon  Mrs. 
Protheroe,  who  occupied  the  chair  wherein  he 
had  first  seen  her.  A  senator  of  the  opposition 
was  finishing  his  denunciation,  when  she  turned 
and  nodded  almost  imperceptibly  to  the  young 
man. 

He  gave  her  one  last  look  of  pathetic  tender- 
ness and  rose. 

"The  Senator  from  Stackpole!" 

"I  want,"  Alonzo  began,  in  his  big  voice:  "I 
want  to  say  a  few  simple,  straightforward  but 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  251 

vigorous  words  about  this  bill.  You  may  remem- 
ber I  spoke  against  it  on  its  second  reading  - 

"You  did  that!"  shouted  Senator  Battle  sud- 
denly. 

"I  want  to  say  now,"  the  Senator  from  Stack- 
pole  continued,  "  that  at  that  time  I  hadn't  stud- 
ied the  subject  sufficiently.  I  didn't  know  the  con- 
ditions of  the  case,  nor  the  facts,  but  since  then  a 
great  light  has  broke  in  upon  me  - 

"  I  should  say  it  had !  I  saw  it  break! "  was  Sen- 
ator Battle's  second  violent  interruption. 

When  order  was  restored,  Alonzo,  who  had 
become  very  pale,  summoned  his  voice  again.  "  I 
think  we'd  ought  to  take  into  consideration  that 
Sunday  is  the  working-man's  only  day  of  recre- 
ation and  not  drive  him  into  low  groggeries,  but 
give  him  a  chance  in  the  open  air  to  indulge  his 
love  of  wholesome  sport  - 

"Such  as  the  ancient  Romans  enjoyed!"  inter- 
posed Battle  vindictively. 

"No,  sir!"  Alonzo  wheeled  upon  him,  stung  to 
the  quick.  "  Such  a  sport  as  free-born  Americans 
and  only  free-born  Americans  can  play  in  this 


2*2  IN  THE  ARENA 

wide  world  —  the  American  game  of  baseball, 
in  which  no  other  nation  of  the  Earth  is  our 
equal!" 

This  was  a  point  scored  and  the  cheering  lasted 
two  minutes.  Then  the  orator  resumed : 

"I  say:  'Give  the  working-man  a  chance!'  Is 
his  life  a  happy  one  ?  You  know  it  ain't!  Give  him 
his  one  day.  Don't  spoil  it  for  him  with  your  laws 
-  he's  only  got  one!  I'm  not  goin'  to  take  up  any 
more  of  your  time,  but  if  there's  anybody  here 
who  thinks  my  well-considered  opinion  worth 
following  I  say:  *  Vote  for  this  bill.9  It  is  right  and 
virtuous  and  ennobling,  and  it  ought  to  be  passed ! 
isayi'Voteforti.*" 

The  reporters  decided  that  the  Senator  from 
Stackpole  had  "  wakened  things  up. "  The  gavel 
rapped  a  long  time  before  the  chamber  quieted 
down,  and  when  it  did,  Josephus  Battle  was  on 
his  feet  and  had  obtained  the  recognition  of  the 
chair. 

"I  wish  to  say, right  here,"  he  began,  with  a 
rasping  leisureliness,  "  that  I  hope  no  member  of 
this  honoured  body  will  take  my  remarks  as  per- 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  253 

sonal  or  unparliamentary  —  but"  -  he  raised  a 
big  forefinger  and  shook  it  with  menace  at  the 
presiding  officer,  at  the  same  time  suddenly  lift- 
ing his  voice  to  an  unprintable  shriek  —  "I  say 
to  you,  sir,  that  the  song  of  the  siren  has  been 
heard  in  the  land,  and  the  call  of  Delilah  has  been 
answered !  When  the  Senator  from  Stackpole  rose 
in  this  chamber,  less  than  three  weeks  ago,  and 
denounced  this  iniquitous  measure,  I  heard  him 
with  pleasure  --we  all  heard  him  with  pleasure 
—  and  respect!  In  spite  of  his  youth  and  the  poor 
quality  of  his  expression,  we  listened  to  him.  We 
knew  he  was  sencere!  What  has  caused  the 
change  in  him  ?  What  has,  I  ask  ?  I  shall  not  tell 
you,  upon  this  floor,  but  I've  taken  mighty  good 
care  to  let  most  of  you  know,  during  the  morn- 
ing, either  by  word  of  mouth  or  by  note  of  hand! 
Especially  those  of  you  of  the  drains  and  dikes 
and  others  who  might  follow  this  young  Samson, 
whose  locks  have  been  shore!  I've  told  you  all 
about  that,  and  more  —  I've  told  you  the  inside 
history  of  some  facts  about  the  bill  that  I  will  not 
make  public,  because  I  am  too  confident  of  our 


254  IN  THE  ARENA 

strength  to  defeat  this  devilish  measure,  and  pre- 
fer to  let  our  vote  speak  our  opinion  of  it !  Let  me 
not  detain  you  longer.  /  thank  you!" 

Long  before  he  had  finished,  the  Senator  from 
Stackpole  was  being  held  down  in  his  chair  by 
Truslow  and  several  senators  whose  seats  were 
adjacent;  and  the  vote  was  taken  amid  an  uproar 
of  shouting  and  confusion.  When  the  clerk  man- 
aged to  proclaim  the  result  over  all  other  noises, 
the  bill  was  shown  to  be  defeated  and  "killed," 
by  a  majority  of  five  votes. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Alonzo  Rawson,  his  neck- 
wear disordered  and  his  face  white  with  rage, 
stumbled  out  of  the  great  doors  upon  the  trail  of 
Battle,  who  had  quietly  hurried  away  to  his  hotel 
for  lunch  as  soon  as  he  had  voted. 

The  black  automobile  was  vanishing  round 
a  corner.  Truslow  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the 
pavement  staring  after  it  ruefully : 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Protheroe?"  gasped  the  Sen- 
ator from  Stackpole. 

"She's  gone,"  said  the  other. 

"Gone  where?" 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  255 

"Gone  back  to  Paris.  She  sails  day  after  to- 
morrow. She  just  had  time  enough  to  catch  her 
train  for  New  York  after  waiting  to  hear  how  the 
vote  went.  She  told  me  to  tell  you  good-bye,  and 
that  she  was  sorry.  Don't  stare  at  me  Rawson!  I 
guess  we're  in  the  same  boat!  -  -  Where  are  you 
going?"  he  finished  abruptly. 

Alonzo  swung  by  him  and  started  across  the 
street.  "To  find  Battle!"  the  hoarse  answer  came 
back. 

The  conquering  Josephus  was  leaning  medi- 
tatively upon  the  counter  of  the  cigar-stand  of  his 
hotel  when  Alonzo  found  him.  He  took  one  look 
at  the  latter's  face  and  backed  to  the  wall,  tight- 
ening his  grasp  upon  the  heavy-headed  ebony 
cane  it  was  his  habit  to  carry,  a  habit  upon  which 
he  now  congratulated  himself. 

But  his  precautions  were  needless.  Alonzo 
stopped  out  of  reaching  distance. 

'You  tell  me,"  he  said  in  a  breaking  voice; 
"you  tell  me  what  you  meant  about  Delilah  and 
sirens  and  Samsons  and  inside  facts !  You  tell 
me!" 


S56  IN  THE  ARENA 

"You  wild  ass  of  the  prairies,"  said  Battle,  "I 
saw  you  last  night  behind  them  pa'ms !  But  don't 
you  think  I  told  it  —  or  ever  will !  I  just  passed  the 
word  around  that  she'd  argued  you  into  her  way 
of  thinkin',  same  as  she  had  a  good  many  others. 
And  as  for  the  rest  of  it,  I  found  out  where  the 
nigger  in  the  woodpile  was,  and  I  handed  that  out, 
too.  Don't  you  take  it  hard,  my  son,  but  I  told  you 
her  husband  left  her  a  good  deal  of  land  around 
here.  She  owns  the  ground  that  they  use  for  the 
baseball  park,  and  her  lease  would  be  worth  con- 
siderable more  if  they  could  have  got  the  right  to 
play  on  Sundays!" 

Senator  Trumbull  sat  up  straight,  in  bed,  that 
night,  and,  for  the  first  time  during  his  martyr- 
dom, listened  with  no  impatience  to  the  prayer 
which  fell  upon  his  ears. 

"  O  Lord  Almighty, "  through  the  flimsy  par- 
tition came  the  voice  of  Alonzo  Rawson,  quaver- 
ingly,  but  with  growing  strength :  "  Aid  Thou  me 
to  see  my  way  more  clear!  I  find  it  hard  to  tell 
right  from  wrong,  and  I  find  myself  beset  with 


MRS.  PROTHEROE  257 

tangled  wires.  O  God,  I  feel  that  I  am  ignorant, 
and  fall  into  many  devices.  These  are  strange 
paths  wherein  Thou  hast  set  my  feet,  but  I  feel 
that  through  Thy  help,  and  through  great  an- 
guish, I  am  learning!" 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS 


M 


ME.  BERNHARDT  and  M.  Coquelin  were 
playing  "L'Aiglon."Toward  the  end  of  the  sec- 
ond act  people  began  to  slide  down  in  their  seats, 
shift  their  elbows,  or  casually  rub  their  eyes; 
by  the  close  of  the  third,  most  of  the  taller  gentle- 
men were  sitting  on  the  small  of  their  backs  with 
their  knees  as  high  as  decorum  permitted,  and 
many  were  openly  coughing;  but  when  the  fourth 
came  to  an  end,  active  resistance  ceased,  hope- 
lessness prevailed,  the  attitudes  were  those  of  the 
stricken  field,  and  the  over-crowded  house  was 
like  a  college  chapel  during  an  interminable 
compulsory  lecture.  Here  and  there  —  but  most 
rarely  —  one  saw  an  eager  woman  with  bright 
eyes,  head  bent  forward  and  body  spellbound, 
still  enchantedly  following  the  course  of  the  play. 
Between  the  acts  the  orchestra  pattered  rag- 
time and  inanities  from  the  new  comic  operas, 

201 


262  IN  THE  ARENA 

while  the  audience  in  general  took  some  heart. 
When  the  play  was  over,  we  were  all  enthus- 
iastic; though  our  admiration,  however  vehe- 
ment in  the  words  employed  to  express  it,  was 
somewhat  subdued  as  to  the  accompanying  man- 
ner, which  consisted,  mainly,  of  sighs  and  re- 
signed murmurs.  In  the  lobby  a  thin  old  man 
with  a  grizzled  chin-beard  dropped  his  hand 
lightly  on  my  shoulder,  and  greeted  me  in  a  tone 
of  plaintive  inquiry: 

"Well,  son?" 

Turning,  I  recognized  a  patron  of  my  early 
youth,  in  whose  woodshed  I  had  smoked  my 
first  cigar,  an  old  friend  whom  I  had  not  seen  for 
years;  and  to  find  him  there,  with  his  long,  dust- 
coloured  coat,  his  black  string  tie  and  rusty  hat, 
brushed  on  every  side  by  opera  cloaks  and  feath- 
ers, was  a  rich  surprise,  warming  the  cockles  of 
my  heart.  His  name  is  Tom  Martin;  he  lives  in  a 
small  country  town,  where  he  commands  the  trade 
in  Dry  Goods  and  Men's  Clothing;  his  speech  is 
pitched  in  a  high  key,  is  very  slow,  sometimes 
whines  faintly;  and  he  always  calls  me  "Son." 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  263 

"What  in  the  world!"  I  exclaimed,  as  we 
shook  hands. 

"  Well,"  he  drawled,  "  I  dunno  why  I  shouldn't 
be  as  meetropolitan  as  anybody.  I  come  over 
on  the  afternoon  accommodation  for  the  show. 
Let's  you  and  me  make  a  night  of  it.  What  say, 
son?" 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  play?"  I  asked, 
as  we  turned  up  the  street  toward  the  club. 

"I  think  they  done  it  about  as  well  as  they 
could." 

"That  all?" 

"Well,"  he  rejoined  with  solemnity,  "there 
was  a  heap  of  it,  wasn't  there!" 

We  talked  of  other  things,  then,  until  such 
time  as  we  found  ourselves  seated  by  a  small 
table  at  the  club,  old  Tom  somewhat  uneasily 
regarding  a  twisted  cigar  he  was  smoking  and 
plainly  confounded  by  the  "  carbonated"  syphon, 
for  which,  indeed,  he  had  no  use  in  the  world. 
We  had  been  joined  by  little  Fiderson,  the  young- 
est member  of  the  club,  whose  whole  nervous 
person  jerkily  sparkled  "L'Aiglon"  enthusiasm. 


S64  IN  THE  ARENA 

"  Such  an  evening!"  he  cried,  in  his  little  spiky 
voice.  "Mr.  Martin,  it  does  one  good  to  realize 
that  our  country  towns  are  sending  representa- 
tives to  us  when  we  have  such  things;  that  they 
wish  to  get  in  touch  with  what  is  greatest  in  Art. 
They  should  do  it  often.  To  think  that  a  journey 
of  only  seventy  miles  brings  into  your  life  the 
magnificence  of  Rostand's  point  of  view  made 
living  fire  by  the  genius  of  a  Bernhardt  and  a 
Coquelin!" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Martin,  with  a  curious  help- 
lessness, after  an  ensuing  pause,  which  I  refused 
to  break,  "yes,  sir,  they  seemed  to  be  doing  it 
about  as  well  as  they  could." 

Fiderson  gasped  slightly.  "It  was  magnificent! 
Those  two  great  artists!  But  over  all  the  play  — 
the  play!  Romance  new-born;  poesy  marching 
with  victorious  banners;  a  great  spirit  breath- 
ing! Like  'Cyrano'  —  the  birth-mark  of  immor- 
tality on  this  work! " 

There  was  another  pause,  after  which  old 
Tom  turned  slowly  to  me,  and  said:  "Homer 
Tibbs's  opened  up  a  cigar-stand  at  the  deep®. 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  265 

Carries  a  line  of  candy,  magazines,  and  fruit, 
too.  "Home's  a  hustler ." 

Fiderson  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair. 

"That  death  scene >"  he  exclaimed  at  me,  giv- 
ing Martin  up  as  a  log  accidentally  rolled  in 
from  the  woods.  "I  thought  that  after  'Wagram' 
I  could  feel  nothing  more;  emotion  was  ex- 
hausted ;  but  then  came  that  magnificent  death ! 
It  was  tragedy  made  ecstatic;  pathos  made  into 
music;  the  grandeur  of  a  gentle  spirit,  conquered 
physically  but  morally  unconquerable !  Goethe's 
'  More  Light '  outshone ! " 

Old  Tom's  eyes  followed  the  smoke  of  his  per- 
plexing cigar  along  its  heavy  strata  in  the  still 
air  of  the  room,  as  he  inquired  if  I  remembered 
Orlando  T.  Bickner's  boy,  Mel.  I  had  never 
heard  of  him,  and  said  so. 

"No,  I  expect  not,"  rejoined  Martin.  "Prob'ly 
you  wouldn't;  Bickner  was  Governor  along  in  my 
early  days,  and  I  reckon  he  ain't  hardly  more 
than  jest  a  name  to  you  two.  But  we  kind  of 
thought  he  was  the  biggest  man  this  country  had 
ever  seen,  or  was  goin'  to  see,  and  he  was  a  big 


266  IN  THE  ARENA 

man.  He  made  one  president,  and  could  have 
been  it  himself,  instead,  if  he'd  be'n  willing  to 
do  a  kind  of  underhand  trick,  but  I  expect  with- 
out it  he  was  about  as  big  a  man  as  anybody 'd 
care  to  be;  Governor9  Senator,  Secretary  of  State 
—  and  just  owned  his  party!  And,  my  law!  —  the 
whole  earth  bo  win'  down  to  him;  torchlight  pro- 
cessions and  sky-rockets  when  he  come  home  in 
the  night;  bands  and  cannon  if  his  train  got  in, 
daytime;  home-folks  so  proud  of  him  they 
couldn't  see;  everybody's  hat  off;  and  all  the 
most  important  men  in  the  country  following  at 
his  heels  —  a  country,  too,  that'd  put  up  con- 
sider'ble  of  a  comparison  with  everything  Na- 
poleon had  when  he'd  licked  'em  all,  over 
there. 

"Of  course  he  had  enemies,  and,  of  course, 
year  by  year,  they  got  to  be  more  of  'em,  and 
they  finally  downed  him  for  good ;  and  like  other 
public  men  so  fixed,  he  didn't  live  long  after 
that.  He  had  a  son,  Melville,  mighty  likable 
young  fellow,  studyin'  law  when  his  paw  died.  I 
was  livin'  in  their  town  then,  and  I  knowed  Mel 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  267 

Bickner  pretty  well;   he  was  consider'ble  of   a 
man. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  ever  heard  him  speak  of 
that's  bein'  the  reason,  but  I  expect  it  may've 
be'n  partly  in  the  hope  of  carryin'  out  some  of 
his  paw's  notions,  Mel  tried  hard  to  git  into  poli- 
tics; but  the  old  man's  local  enemies  jumped  on 
every  move  he  made,  and  his  friends  wouldn't 
help  any;  you  can't  tell  why,  except  that  it  gen- 
erally is  thataway.  Folks  always  like  to  laugh  at 
a  great  man's  son  and  say  he  can't  amount  to 
anything.  Of  course  that  comes  partly  from  fel- 
lows like  that  ornery  little  cuss  we  saw  to-night, 
thinkin'  they're  a  good  deal  because  somebody 
else  done  something,  and  the  somebody  else  hap- 
pened to  be  their  paw;  and  the  women  run  after 
'em,  and  they  git  low-down  like  he  was,  and  so 


on." 


"Mr.  Martin,"  interrupted  Fiderson,  with  in- 
dignation, "will  you  kindly  inform  me  in  what 
way  *  L'Aiglon '  was  '  low-down '  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  didn't  that  huntin '-lodge  appoint- 
ment kind  of  put  you  in  mind  of  a  camp-meetin' 


368  IN  THE  ARENA 

scandal?"  returned  old  Tom  quietly.  "It  did 


me." 


"But—" 

"Well,  sir,  I  can't  say  as  I  understood  the 
French  of  it,  but  I  read  the  book  in  English  be- 
fore I  come  up,  and  it  seemed  to  me  he  was 
pretty  much  of  a  low-down  boy;  yet  I  wanted 
to  see  how  they'd  make  him  out;  hearin'  it  was 
thought,  the  country  over,  to  be  such  a  great 
play;  though  to  tell  the  truth  all  I  could  tell 
about  that  was  that  every  line  seemed  to  end  in 
'awze'  ;  and  't  they  all  talked  in  rhyme,  and  it 
did  strike  me  as  kind  of  enervatin'  to  be  expected 
to  believe  that  people  could  keep  it  up  that  long; 
and  that  it  wasn't  only  the  boy  that  never  quit  on 
the  subject  of  himself  and  his  folks,  but  pretty 
near  any  of  'em,  if  he'd  git  the  chanst,  did  the 
same  thing,  so't  almost  I  sort  of  wondered  if 
Rostand  wasn't  that  kind." 

"  Go  on  with  Melville  Bickner,"  said  I. 

"What  do  you  expect,"  retorted  Mr.  Martin 
with  a  vindictive  gleam  in  his  eye,  "when  you 
give  a  man  one  of  these  here  spiral  staircase 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  £69 

cigars  ?  Old  Peter  himself  couldn't  keep  straight 
along  one  subject  if  he  tackled  a  cigar  like  this. 
Well,  sir,  I  always  thought  Mel  had  a  mighty 
mean  time  of  it.  He  had  to  take  care  of  his 
mother  and  two  sisters,  his  little  brother  and  an 
aunt  that  lived  with  them ;  and  there  was  mighty 
little  to  do  it  on;  big  men  don't  usually  leave 
much  but  debts,  and  in  this  country,  of  course,  a 
man  can't  eat  and  spend  long  on  his  paw's  repu- 
tation, like  that  little  Dook  of  Reishtod  - 

"I  beg  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Martin-  '  Fiderson 
began  hotly. 

Martin  waved  his  bony  hand  soothingly. 

"Oh,  I  know;  they  was  money  in  his  mother's 
family,  and  they  give  him  his  vittles  and  clothes, 
and  plenty,  too.  His  paw  didn't  leave  much 
either  —  though  he'd  stole  more  than  Boss 
Tweed.  I  suppose  —  and,  just  lookin'  at  things 
from  the  point  of  what  they'd  earned,  his  maw's 
folks  had  stole  a  good  deal,  too;  or  else  you  can 
say  they  were  a  kind  of  public  charity;  old  Met- 
ternich,  by  what  I  can  learn,  bein'  the  only  one 
in  the  whole  possetucky  of  'em  that  really  did 


270  IN  THE  ARENA 

anything  to  deserve  his  salary — "  Mr.  Mar- 
tin broke  off  suddenly,  observing  that  I  was 
about  to  speak,  and  continued : 

"  Mel  didn't  git  much  law  practice,  jest  about 
enough  to  keep  the  house  goin'  and  pay  taxes. 
He  kept  workin'  for  the  party  jest  the  same 
and  jest  as  cheerfully  as  if  it  didn't  turn  him 
down  hard  every  time  he  tried  to  git  anything 
for  himself.  They  lived  some  ways  out  from 
town;  and  he  sold  the  horses  to  keep  the  little 
brother  in  school,  one  winter,  and  used  to  walk 
in  to  his  office  and  out  again,  twice  a  day,  over 
the  worst  roads  in  the  State,  rain  or  shine,  snow, 
sleet,  or  wind,  without  any  overcoat;  and  he  got 
kind  of  a  skimpy,  froze-up  look  to  him  that 
lasted  clean  through  summer.  He  worked  like  a 
mule,  that  boy  did,  jest  barely  makin'  ends 
meet.  He  had  to  quit  runnin'  with  the  girls  and 
goin'  to  parties  and  everything  like  that;  and  I 
expect  it  may  have  been  some  hard  to  do ;  for  if 
they  ever  was  a  boy  loved  to  dance  and  be  gay, 
and  up  to  anything  in  the  line  of  fun  and  junk- 
etin'  round,  it  was  Mel  Bickner.  He  had  a  laugh 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  271 

I  can  hear  yet  —  made  you  feel  friendly  to  every- 
body you  saw;  feel  like  stoppin'  the  next  man 
you  met  and  shakin'  hands  and  havin'  a  joke 
with  him. 

"Mel  was  engaged  to  Jane  Grandis  when 
Governor  Bickner  died.  He  had  to  go  and  tell 
her  to  take  somebody  else  —  it  was  the  only 
thing  to  do.  He  couldn't  give  Jane  anything  but 
his  poverty,  and  she  wasn't  used  to  it.  They  say 
she  offered  to  come  to  him  anyway,  but  he 
wouldn't  hear  of  it,  and  no  more  would  he  let  her 
wait  for  him;  told  her  she  mustn't  grow  into  an 
old  maid,  lonely,  and  still  waitin'  for  the  lightning 
to  strike  him  —  that  is,  his  luck  to  come;  and 
actually  advised  her  to  take  'Gene  Callender, 
who'd  be'n  pressin'  pretty  close  to  Mel  for  her 
before  the  engagement.  The  boy  didn't  talk  to 
her  this  way  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  mourning 
and  groaning.  No,  sir!  It  was  done  cheerful;  and 
so  much  so  that  Jane  never  was  quite  sure  after- 
werds  whether  Mel  wasn't  kind  of  glad  to  git  rid 
of  her  or  not.  Fact  is,  they  say  she  quit  speakin' 
to  him.  Mel  knowed;  a  state  of  puzzlement  or 


372  IN  THE  ARENA 

even  a  good  mod's  a  mighty  sight  better  than 
bein'  all  harrowed  up  and  grief-stricken.  And  he 
never  give  her  —  nor  any  one  else  —  a  chanst  to 
be  sorry  for  him.  His  maw  was  the  only  one  heard 
him  walk  the  floor  nights,  and  after  he  found 
out  she  could  hear  him  he  walked  in  his  socks. 

"Yes,  sir!  Meet  that  boy  on  the  street,  or  go 
up  in  his  office,  you'd  think  that  he  was  the  gay- 
est feller  in  town.  I  tell  you  there  wasn't  any- 
thing pathetic  about  Mel  Bickner!  He  didn't 
believe  in  it.  And  at  home  he  had  a  funny  story 
every  evening  of  the  world,  about  something 
'd  happened  during  the  day;  and  'd  whistle  to 
the  guitar,  or  git  his  maw  into  a  game  of  cards 
with  his  aunt  and  the  girls.  Law!  that  boy  didn't 
believe  in  no  house  of  mourning.  He'd  be  up  at 
four  in  the  morning,  hoein'  up  their  old  garden; 
raised  garden-truck  for  their  table,  sparrow- 
grass  and  sweet  corn  —  yes,  and  roses,  too;  al- 
ways had  the  house  full  of  roses  in  June-time; 
never  was  a  house  sweeter-smellin'  to  go  into. 

"Mel  was  what  I  call  a  useful  citizen.  As  I 
said,  I  knowed  him  well.  I  don't  recollect  I  ever 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  273 

heard  him  speak  of  himself,  nor  yet  of  his  father 
but  once  —  for  that,  I  reckon,  he  jest  couldn't; 
and  for  himself;  I  don't  believe  it  ever  occurred 
to  him. 

"And  he  was  a  smart  boy.  Now,  you  take  it, 
all  in  all,  a  boy  can't  be  as  smart  as  Mel  was,  and 
work  as  hard  as  he  did,  and  not  git  somewhere  - 
in  this  State,  anyway!  And  so,  about  the  fifth 
year,  things  took  a  sudden  change  for  him;  his 
father's  enemies  and  his  own  friends,  both,  had 
to  jest  about  own  they  was  beat.  The  crowd  that 
had  been  running  the  conventions  and  keepin' 
their  own  men  in  all  the  offices,  had  got  to  be 
pretty  unpopular,  and  they  had  the  sense  to  see 
that  they'd  have  to  branch  out  and  connect  up 
with  some  mighty  good  men,  jest  to  keep  the 
party  in  power.  Well,  sir,  Mel  had  got  to  be 
about  the  most  popular  and  respected  man  in 
the  county.  Then  one  day  I  met  him  on  the  street; 
he  was  on  his  way  to  buy  an  overcoat,  and  he  was 
lookin'  skimpier  and  more  froze-up  and  genialer 
than  ever.  It  was  March,  and  up  to  jest  that 
time  things  had  be'n  hardest  of  all  for  Mel.  I 


274  IN  THE  ARENA 

walked  around  to  the  store  with  him,  and  he  was 
mighty  happy;  goin'  to  send  his  mother  north  in 
the  summer,  and  the  girls  were  goin'  to  have  a 
party,  and  Bob,  his  little  brother,  could  go  to  the 
best  school  in  the  country  in  the  fall.  Things  had 
come  his  way  at  last,  and  that  very  morning  the 
crowd  had  called  him  in  and  told  him  they  were 
goin'  to  run  him  for  county  clerk. 

"Well,  sir,  the  next  evening  I  heard  Mel  was 
sick.  Seein'  him  only  the  day  before  on  the  street, 
out  and  well,  I  didn't  think  anything  of  it  - 
thought  prob'ly  a  cold  or  something  like  that; 
but  in  the  morning  I  heard  the  doctor  said  he  was 
likely  to  die.  Of  course  I  couldn't  hardly  believe 
it;  thing  like  that  never  does  seem  possible,  but 
they  all  said  it  was  true,  and  there  wasn't  any- 
body on  the  street  that  day  that  didn't  look  blue 
or  talked  about  anything  else.  Nobody  seemed 
to  know  what  was  the  matter  with  him  exactly, 
and  I  reckon  the  doctor  did  jest  the  wrong  thing 
for  it.  Near  as  I  can  make  out,  it  was  what  they 
call  appendicitis  nowadays,  and  had  come  on 
him  in  the  night. 


GREAT  MEN'S  SONS  275 

"Along  in  the  afternoon  I  went  out  there  to 
see  if  there  was  anything  I  could  do.  You  know 
what  a  house  in  that  condition  is  like.  Old  Fes 
Bainbridge,  who  was  some  sort  of  a  relation,  and 
me  sat  on  the  stairs  together  outside  Mel's  room. 
We  could  hear  his  voice,  clear  and  strong  and 
hearty  as  ever.  He  was  out  of  pain;  and  he  had 
to  die  with  the  full  flush  of  health  and  strength  on 
him,  and  he  knowed  it.  Not  wantin'  to  go, 
through  the  waste  and  wear  of  a  long  sickness, 
but  with  all  the  ties  of  life  clinchin'  him  here,  and 
success  jest  comin.'  We  heard  him  speak  of  us, 
amongst  others,  old  Fes  and  me;  wanted  'em  to 
be  sure  not  forget  to  tell  me  to  remember  to  vote 
for  Fillmore  if  the  ground-hog  saw  his  shadow 
election  year,  which  was  an  old  joke  I  always 
had  with  him.  He  was  awful  worried  about  his 
mother,  though  he  tried  not  to  show  it,  and 
when  the  minister  wanted  to  pray  fer  him,  we 
heard  him  say,  *  No,  sir,  you  pray  fer  my  mam- 
ma!' That  was  the  only  thing  that  was  different 
from  his  usual  way  of  speakin';  he  called  his 
mother  '  mamma,'  and  he  wouldn't  let  'em  pray 


276  IN  THE  ARENA 

for  him  neither;  not  once;  all  the  time  he  could 
spare  for  their  prayin'  was  put  in  for  her. 

"  He  called  in  old  Fes  to  tell  him  all  about  his 
life  insurance.  He'd  carried  a  heavy  load  of  it, 
and  it  was  all  paid  up;  and  the  sweat  it  must 
have  took  to  do  it  you'd  hardly  like  to  think 
about.  He  give  directions  about  everything  as 
careful  and  painstaking  as  any  day  of  his  life. 
He  asked  to  speak  to  Fes  alone  a  minute,  and 
later  I  helped  Fes  do  what  he  told  him.  *  Cousin 
Fes/  he  says,  'it's  bad  weather,  but  I  expect 
mother'll  want  all  the  flowers  takea  out  to  the 
cemetery  and  you  better  let  her  have  her  way. 
But  there  wouldn't  be  any  good  of  their  stayin' 
there;  snowed  on,  like  as  not.  I  wish  you'd  wait 
till  after  she's  come  away,  and  git  a  wagon  and 
take  'em  in  to  the  hospital.  You  can  fix  up  the 
anchors  and  so  forth  so  they  won't  look  like 
funeral  flowers. ' 

"About  an  hour  later  his  mother  broke  out 
with  a  scream,  sobbin'  and  cryin',  and  he  tried 
to  quiet  her  by  tellin'  over  one  of  their  old-time 
family  funny  stories ;  it  made  her  worse,  so  he  quit. 


GREAT  MEJNTS  SONS  277 

cOh,  Mel,'  she  says,  *  you'll  be  with  your 
father—* 

"I  don't  know  as  Mel  had  much  of  a  belief  in 
a  hereafter;  certainly  he  wasn't  a  great  church- 
goer. 'Well/  he  saySj,  mighty  slow,  but  hearty 
and  smiling,  too,  <  if  I  see  father,  I  —  guess  — 
I'll  —  be  —  pretty  —  well  —  fixed ! '  Then  he  jest 
lay  still,  tryin'  to  quiet  her  and  pettin'  her  head. 
And  so  —  that's  the  way  he  went." 

Fiderson  made  one  of  his  impatient  little  ges- 
tures, but  Mr.  Martin  drowned  his  first  words 
with  a  loud  fit  of  coughing. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  observed,  "I  read  that  'Leg- 
long'  book  down  home;  and  I  heard  two  or  three 
countries,  and  especially  ourn,  had  gone  mid- 
dling crazy  over  it;  it  seemed  kind  of  funny  that 
we  should,  too,  so  I  thought  I  better  come  up  and 
see  it  for  myself,  how  it  was,  on  the  stage,  where 
you  could  look  at  it;  and  —  I  expect  they  done 
it  as  well  as  they  could.  But  when  that  little  boy, 
that'd  always  had  his  board  and  clothes  and 
education  free,  saw  that  he'd  jest  about  talked 
himself  to  death,  and  called  for  the  press  notices 


278  IN  THE  ARENA 

about  his  christening  to  be  read  to  him  to  soothe 
his  last  spasms  —  why,  I  wasn't  overly  put  in 
mind  of  Melville  Bickner." 

Mr.  Martin's  train  left  for  Plattsville  at  two 
in  the  morning.  Little  Fiderson  and  I  escorted 
him  to  the  station.  As  the  old  fellow  waved  us 
good-bye  from  within  the  gates,  Fiderson  turned 
and  said : 

"Just  the  type  of  sodden-headed  old  pioneer 
that  you  couldn't  hope  to  make  understand  a 
beautiful  thing  like  'L'Aiglon'  in  a  thousand 
years.  I  thought  it  better  not  to  try,  didn't  you  ?" 

THE  END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


